IDNTI'R^W 


HEN-i^MiLi^mmupEoir 


ADMIRAL'S  LIGHT 


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ANNA   HIUJAIll) 
From  a  drawing  by  Martin  Justice 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 


BY 

HENRY  MILNER  RIDEOUT 

Author  o/Betched  Keels,  The  Siamese  Cat,  etc. 
WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND    COMPANY 

1907 


COPYRIGHT   igcfj  BY   HENRY   MILNER   RIDBOUT 


ALL   RIGHTS  RESERVED 


Published  November  tqqrj 


(^ 


4' 


To 
NATHANIEL  ALLISON,  M.  D. 


^:5022rj 


CONTENTS 

I.  THE  GYPSY  MARE 1 

n.  CAPTAIN  FLORIO 28 

m.  THE  SAFFRON  MAN      .       .       .       .       .       .49 

IV.  PAN'S  PIPES 69 

V.  THE  HIGH  WOODS 91 

VI.  THE  COUNCIL 114 

Vn.  HABAKKUK'S  LIGHT ISS 

Vni.  THE  OTHER  CAMP .167 

IX.  THE  RUNNING  BROOK 181 

X.  TONY  PASSES 201 

XI.  THE  RISK 223 

Note.   The  frontispiece  is  from  a  drawing  hy  Martin  Justice.   The 
eleven  half-titles  are  from  drawings  hy  Charles  H.  Woodbury. 


ADMIRAL'S  LIGHT 

CHAPTER    I 
THE   GYPSY  MARE 

Thrusting  his  tousled  head  through  the 
trap-door.  Miles  made  his  third  and  last  in- 
spection for  the  night.  Fierce  yellow  light 
flooded  the  glass  cage;  against  the  panes, 
like  restless,  irritated  snowflakes,  a  few  be- 
lated moths  fluttered  in  vain.  The  circular 
base  of  the  lamp  cast  downward  a  shadow 
so  black  as  almost  to  appear  a  solid  support- 
ing cone.  At  the  edge  of  this  Miles  reared 
his  shoulders  higher.  Under  the  blue  flannel 
shirt  their  weary  movement  was  that  of  a 
sleepy  boy;  but  his  thin,  dark  face  shone 

1 


;/:;;    I  ■     ADMIRAL'S  LIGHT 

grave  as  a  man's.  He  sniffed  the  familiar 
smell  of  oil  and  hot  brass,  and  glanced  per- 
functorily; the  lamp  burned  as  bright  as  it 
had  three  hours  ago,  at  midnight,  or  as  it 
would  burn  three  hours  hence,  at  sunrise,  — 
with  the  same  provoking  virtue  that  made 
his  nocturnal  rounds  a  waste  of  labor  and 
sleep. 

"Some  one  has  to,"  he  said  aloud.  "Burn 
away.  Beast!"  With  this  customary  good- 
night, he  clattered  downstairs,  locked  the 
light-house  door,  caught  up  his  lantern,  and 
went  whistling  along  the  narrow  path  by  the 
river.  From  below,  to  the  left,  stole  the  salt 
coolness  of  seaweed  bared  at  low  tide,  —  a 
sharp  aroma  that  set  him  wide  awake.  From 
above,  over  a  black  phantom  hill,  peered 
Orion's  red  shoulder-star.  Hurtling  shadows 
of  undergrowth  before  his  lantern  rose  mag- 

2 


THE  GYPSY  MARE 

nified,  parted  in  rout,  wheeled  slowly,  fell 
prostrate  and  infinitely  prolonged.  The  grass 
fringe  of  his  smooth-beaten  trail  gleamed 
with  a  pearly  rime  of  autumnal  dew.  "Nearly 
frost  to-night,"  thought  the  boy. 

He  raced  down  into  a  steep  gully,  drummed 
across  a  little  foot-bridge,  took  by  scrambling 
assault  the  other  bank,  and  on  the  crest,  sud- 
denly, as  their  black  wall  yawned  to  engulf 
him,  entered  a  low  grove  of  pines  and  cedars. 
The  cold  wet  bristles  bedewed  his  hands,  as 
he  skipped  along,  now  scuflSng  loudly  on  a 
worn  ledge,  now  over  a  stretch  of  wet  touch- 
wood, the  full,  fern-bordered  length  of  a  van- 
ished log,  that  made  hi-m  advance  silent  as  a 
ghost. 

A  ghost — he  often  thought  of  that,  for  now 
came  the  one  mild  excitement.  Three  times 
every  night,  his  grandfather's  unoflSicial  dep- 

3 


ADMIRAL'S  LIGHT 

uty,  he  tramped  this  triangular  beat,  down- 
hill, along  the  shore  between  the  two  fixed 
lights,  uphill  again  to  the  farmhouse.  At 
first  a  lark,  this  tramp  had  in  the  last  year 
become  dull  monotony;  his  score,  penciled 
in  the  back  of  his  beloved  atlas,  showed  over 
a  thousand  tours,  on  which  nothing  ever  hap- 
pened; and  yet  now  and  then,  as  he  neared 
the  Admiral's  deck,  he  felt  the  childhood 
presentiment  that  just  ahead  something  would 
appear.  Usually  a  nameless  emotion,  faint 
and  swiftly  obliterated,  it  came  now,  in  the 
early  morning  darkness,  almost  as  the  pris- 
tine thrill. 

At  the  place  which  had  helped  to  name  the 
whole  shore,  his  path  widened  into  a  clear- 
ing beside  a  low  bluff.  The  lantern  twirled  its 
shadow-ribs  across  a  floor  of  rotten  wood, — 
old  ship's  planking,  the  few  solid  remnants  au- 

4 


THE  GYPSY  MARE 

ger-bored.  Here,  beside  a  stout  rail  which  now 
tottered  over  the  dark  gulf,  Admiral  Bissant, 
the  boy's  great-uncle,  had  walked  the  quarter- 
deck in  his  dotage.  Miles 's  grandfather  never 
mentioned  the  tradition;  but  old  Fisherman 
Bull  had  often  told  how,  dropping  down  river 
in  the  Mystic  Tie,  he  had  seen  an  aged  fig- 
ure pacing  the  verge  above,  in  faced  uniform 
and  cocked  hat.  "  Givin'  orders  he  was,"  said 
the  fisher,  **to  nobody — trompin'  an'  mum- 
blin'  amongst  the  trees,  bossin'  hemlocks  fer 
men."  To  prove  the  story  there  remained 
uniform,  cocked  hat,  and  sword  as  well,  res- 
cued by  Uncle  Christopher  when  the  old  Bis- 
sant house  burned,  and  now  hung  in  the  "front 
hall"  of  their  cottage.  And  these  mouldering 
planks  still  outlined  the  landfast  quarter- 
deck. A  ghost  there  must  be,  Ella  said. 
Of  course  that  was  her  nonsense.     Only  a 

5 


ADMIRAL'S  LIGHT 

faint  breeze  of  dawn  sighed  through  the 
drooping  needles. 

"Nothing  ever  happens,"  thought  Miles. 
He  dived  into  a  dark  billow  of  firs,  brushed 
along  with  now  and  then  a  gossamer  damp 
across  his  cheeks,  and  following  the  outward 
curve  of  the  shore,  emerged  on  a  tiny  pro- 
montory, down  which  a  ragged  wall  of  Nor- 
way pines  sloped  to  the  second  lighthouse, 
— another  stunted  white  obelisk  tipped  with 
radiance.  Here  again  his  inspection  was  need- 
less ;  and  soon  he  climbed  the  homeward  field, 
where  fast  encroaching  fir-trees  squatted  like 
a  thinned  regiment  of  dwarfs. 

At  the  farmhouse  door  he  blew  out  his  lan- 
tern; and  tiptoeing  from  the  stair-head  past 
his  grandfather's  room,  undressed  in  the  dark, 
and  was  soon  abed  and  asleep. 

Full  flood  of  autumn  sunshine  woke  him; 
6 


THE   GYPSY  MARE 

and  from  a  late  breakfast  alone,  he  went,  as 
usual,  straight  to  the  "library."  Before  a 
snapping  beech-wood  fire,  his  grandfather, 
a  tall,  spare  man,  whose  ruddy,  clean-shaven 
face  was  marked  with  severe  wrinkles,  paced 
in  uncertain  fidgets,  both  hands  clasping  a 
Bible  at  his  back. 

"  Get  your  Testament,  sir,"  he  commanded 
querulously,  without  turning  his  hook-nosed 
profile.  Ella,  the  "girl"  who  had  served  their 
family  these  thirty  years,  looked  up  and 
nodded  furtive  encouragement,  then  bent  to 
as  furtive  a  study  of  the  long  words.  Sitting 
beside  her.  Miles  could  see  the  fat  fingers, 
white  and  puckered  from  hot  water,  faltering 
across  the  narrow  columns,  balking  beneath 
Urbane,  Stachys,  Tryphena  and  Tryphosa. 
When  her  turn  came  to  read  aloud,  she 
omitted  them  one  and  all,  glibly,  but  with  the 

7 


ADMIRAL'S  LIGHT 

air  of  a  nervous  knitter  dropping  stitches. 
The  old  man,  standing  braced  before  the 
fire,  affected  not  to  notice.  It  was  one  of  his 
few  compromises.  He  read  on  sonorously, 
his  head  upUfted  before  the  portrait  of  his 
brother,  the  Admiral,  who  stared  down  from 
the  canvas  with  the  same  ruddy  face  and 
close  white  curls,  the  same  beaked  severity 
and  intolerant  poise. 

Their  devotions  ended,  Ella  went  bustling 
to  her  kitchen,  and  the  head  of  the  Bissant 
family  turned  to  its  youngest  survivor. 

"Good-morning,  sir!  Are  you  any  better 
prepared  to-day.^"  With  eyes  of  a  confused, 
smoky  brightness,  he  surveyed  his  grand- 
son, then  searched  the  few  old  books  on 
the  shelves.  "Hmm!  Sallust — yes,  just  so. 
Come,  begin  —  where  's  the  lesson,  eh  ?  — 
No,  not  there,  either,  take  it  all!  —  Hmm! 

8 


THE  GYPSY  MARE 

— Ah,  here  't  is,  boy:  Volturcius  interrogatus 
de  itinere — " 

"Please,  sir,"  said  Miles  humbly,  **we 
don't  —  it's  Saturday,  grandfather." 

"Eh,  what  the  devil?"  complained  the 
old  man.  "So  't  is,  boy,  so  't  is.  Always  Sat- 
urday." Frowning  vaguely,  he  thumped  the 
book  on  the  table.  "Well,  and  how  d'ye 
propose  to  waste  your  time  to-day?" 

"Shooting,  sir,  if  you  don't  mind,"  ven- 
tured Miles.  "The  law's  off  on  patri  — " 

"Don't  let  me  hear  that  barbarism!"  cried 
his  grandfather  bitterly.  "Must  we  talk  like 
rustics  ?  If  you  will  miscall  the  ruffed  grouse, 
sir,  call  it  p-a-r-t  —  partridge!    Say  it!" 

"Partridge,  sir,"  mumbled  the  boy  sheep- 
ishly. 

"Louder!" 

"Partridge." 

9 


ADMIRAL'S  LIGHT 

"Again!" 

"Partridge,  sir." 

"Now  go,"  commanded  his  grandfather, 
"and  write  out  that  word  fifty  times,  before 
Monday's  lesson!  —  Come  back  here;  who 
said  I'd  finished  ?  Write  it  with  a  capital  R!" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Miles,  and  slipped  from 
the  room.  The  door  closed,  and  the  rebuke 
vanished;  for  there  stood  the  shotgun  ready 
in  the  corner,  and  Ella  packing  his  basket. 
As  he  stepped  out  into  autumn  sunshine,  he 
repaid  her  with  a  promise,  — 

"I'll  bring  home  some  good  pat  —  par- 
tridges." 

"Fat  ones?"  she  jeered,  her  freckled  face 
again  in  the  doorway.  "Then  you'll  have  to 
feed  'em  first.  A  high  old  hunter  are  you! 
They're  still  in  the  lowlands  a-stuflSn'  alder- 
berries,  thin  as  Macfarlane's  geese." 

10 


THE   GYPSY  MARE 

**I  didn't  say  fat  partridges,  Ella,"  he 
called  back.  A  shrill  protest  pursued  him: 
"O-o-h,  Master  Miles,  you  did,  because  I 
heard  you!" 

Behind  their  house  the  hillside  rose,  ab- 
rupt, and  slippery  with  ripe  yellow  grass. 
After  a  brief  climb  Miles  could  look  back 
over  the  warped  roof  and  see  the  convex  field 
plunge  toward  the  river.  Pausing  again  for 
breath,  he  could  see  the  trunks  of  the  two 
tall  hackmatacks  which  stood  before  the  door, 
green  pillars  of  an  imaginary  gate.  From 
between  them  two  brown  paths  forked  wide, — 
sides  of  the  triangle  described  by  his  nightly 
tour.  Pines  and  underbrush  of  solemn  ever- 
green hid  the  distant  base,  but  the  twin  light- 
houses marked  each  extremity  by  a  fat  white 
column,  low  and  red-capped.  Beyond  these, 
in  the  crisp  air,  the  river  shone  steel-blue, 

11 


ADMIRAL'S  LIGHT 

streaked  with  tides,  blackened  with  light 
squalls,  and  throughout  the  two  miles  of  its 
width,  empty,  except  for  the  dotted  pencil- 
ing of  weirs,  and  for  one  dark  fir  knoll,  the 
little  midway  island.  Yellow  birches,  scarlet 
maples,  flamed  like  bale-fires  along  the  ever- 
green headlands  on  the  other  shore;  but  hay- 
fields  of  the  American  borderers,  over  there, 
still  remained  verdant  squares,  dressed  in 
the  living  green  of  second  crops. 

He  gained  the  crest,  and  shifting  his  gun, 
struck  across  a  decrepit  orchard  toward  the 
green  wall  of  the  woods.  Suddenly  a  white 
fleck,  through  the  pattern  of  gnarled  boughs, 
stirred  in  the  adjoining  field.  A  horse  whin- 
nied. The  boy  stopped  in  astonishment. 
What  were  men  and  horses  doing  by  the 
ruins  of  the  old  house?  He  changed  his 
course. 

12 


THE  GYPSY  MARE 

Where  the  Admiral's  house,  last  sign  of 
family  prosperity,  had  long  ago  burned  to  the 
ground,  the  cellar  yawned  like  a  grassy  cra- 
ter in  a  pasture  knoll.  Hawthorns,  a  hedge 
grown  high  and  wild,  screened  the  mound  on 
its  river  side;  and  framed  in  glossy  leaves 
and  scarlet  clusters,  a  little  man  scrubbed 
vigorously  the  back  of  a  tethered  pony.  The 
beast  was  curiously  piebald,  blotched  with 
snow  white  and  dingy  gray. 

Miles  and  the  pony  stared  at  each  other. 
The  man,  without  pausing,  turned  a  swarthy 
face,  scowled,  and  then  grinned. 

"Hello,  Squair,"  he  called  slyly,  "don't 
give  a  poor  chap  away  now,  will  ye.^" 

"  Give  what  away  .^"  said  Miles,  wondering. 

"Pipe-clay,"  replied  the  stranger.  He 
dangled  a  rag  aloft,  stirred  it  in  a  bucket  on 
the  grass,  and  smeared  another  snow-white 

13 


ADMIRAL'S  LIGHT 

patch  down  the  pony's  flank.  "How's  that, 
huh  ?  Look  a-here,"  —  his  crafty  black  eyes 
twinkled,  —  "I'll  tell  you  what,  Squair.  If 
you  won't  give  me  away,  I'll  let  ye  finish 
the  rest  of  him." 

Miles  joyfully  vaulted  the  rails.  Horses, 
in  his  life,  had  been  rare.  Hardly  had  he 
begun  this  new,  odd,  and  delectable  employ- 
ment, before  the  little  man  was  seated  on 
the  mound  of  ruin,  a  luxurious  critic. 

"Don't  rub  so  hard."  He  stuffed  tobacco 
into  a  black  pipe.  "Ye  ain't  curryin'.  Coat 
her  smooth  and  even." 

Pleasure  gave  way,  at  last,  to  curiosity. 

"What's  it  for?"  asked  the  boy. 

"Well,  now,  't ain't  my  fault,"  rejoined 
the  stranger  candidly.  "But  our  paterons  do 
like  to  see  a  white  horse.  No  use  o'  talkin', 
they  do.  Now  Terry's  smart  as  the  Old  Sar- 

14 


THE   GYPSY  MARE 

pint,  but  he  ain't  altogether  a  thorough  white. 
Not  thorough  and  complete,  he  aiii't." 

"Why,  he's  a  gray!"  cried  Miles,  patting 
the  inquisitive  muzzle. 

"I  give  ye  credit  for  that!"  approved  the 
man.  "To  them  that  did  n't  know  him  well, 
Terry  would  seem  grayish.  I  don't  deny 
they's  mottles,  suspicion  o'  gray,  in  places, 
as  you  say." 

Behind  the  speaker,  a  black  shape  bounced 
up  out  of  the  ground.  A  large  Newfoundland 
dog,  leaping  from  the  cellar,  raced  down  the 
bank,  frisked  about  Miles  with  wide-flung 
paws,  made  a  kind  of  salmon  leap  into  the 
air,  turned  an  amazing  somersault,  and,  re- 
bounding from  the  grass,  perched  on  the 
pony's  back.  Next  moment  he  sprang  down 
again,  and  with  forepaws  on  the  boy's  shoul- 
ders, barked  riotously  in  his  face. 

15 


ADMIRAL'S  LIGHT 

"Oh!"  cried  Miles,  dazed  and  deafened. 
"So  that's  it.  You  keep  a  show!" 

The  little  man  blew  upward  a  cloud  of 
smoke  in  the  sunlight,  and  nodded  lazily. 

"Other  side  the  hawthorn,"  he  grunted. 
"Go  look." 

Spread  to  dry  across  the  sheep-sorrel,  long 
strips  of  canvas  bore  inscriptions  red  and 
blue:  "Gypsy  Fair,"  "Abram  the  Magician," 
"  Performing  Quadrupeds,"  "  Madge  the 
Egyptian  Seeress  tells  your  Future," 
"Equine  Theatre,"  "Terry  the  Horseflesh 
Wonder,"  "Ride  the  Gypsy  Mare."  The  boy 
returned  with  round  eyes  alight.  Here  was 
the  Romany  Rye,  not  in  grandfather's  book, 
but  in  real  life. 

"Do  you  —  do  you  keep  a  seeress?"  he 
cried.   "  And  a  real  magician  ?" 

"Come  here,"  said  the  man  mysteriously. 
16 


THE   GYPSY  MARE 

"  What's  wrong  with  your  nose  ? "  He  tweaked 
that  organ  viciously  three  times,  and  pro- 
duced in  swift  succession  a  whittled  square 
of  black  tobacco,  a  stag-horn  knife,  a  blue 
cotton  handkerchief.  "Beats  all,"  he  mar- 
veled. "  Beats  me,  Squair,  why  ye  ever 
stowed  those  up  there!  Gettin'  hunchback, 
too,  ain't  ye?  Bend  over."  Miles  felt  the 
man's  hand  slip  beneath  his  collar,  then 
something  cold  between  the  shoulder-blades. 
"Well,  no  wonder,"  said  the  magician. 
There  in  his  hand  was  a  bell-mouthed 
flageolet,  with  tarnished  German-silver 
keys. 

"Are  you  Abram?"  asked  the  boy,  laugh- 
ing, but  a  little  daunted. 

The  other  nodded.  "Onhitch  Terry.  Now 
ye  watch."  Putting  the  flageolet  to  his  lips, 
he  squealed  forth  a   sprightly  air.    At   the 

17 


ADMIRAL'S  LIGHT 

first  notes  the  pipe-clayed  pony  reared  on 
his  little  hind-legs,  and,  keeping  rude  time, 
staggered  through  a  precarious  pirouette. 

"  He  can  choose  colors,  too,"  said  his  mas- 
ter, when  Terry  had  dropped  to  all  fours, 
"and  add  sums,  and  fire  me  a  pistol,  and 
play  me  a  toon  on  bells." 

"And  carry  me  on  his  back,  standing  up," 
called  a  treble  voice  above  them.  A  barefoot 
girl  with  strange  light-colored  hair,  and  a 
woman  in  gray  calico,  stood  on  the  edge  of 
the  grassy  crater. 

"We're  campin'  in  the  cellar,"  explained 
Abram,  —  "my  little  girl  and  my  wife;  she's 
Madge  the  Seeress." 

"Are  you  —  are  you,"  faltered  Miles,  fear- 
ing to  give  ofiFense  —  "are  you  —  Egyptians, 
please?" 

"A  descendant  o'  Pharaoh,"  said  Abram 
18 


THE   GYPSY  MARE 

gravely.  "Born  on  the  banks  o'  the  Nile. 
The  Seeress'll  tell  your  fortune.  Got  any 
money?" 

Miles  grew  cautious,  remembering  dark 
tales. 

"No,"  he  said.  " That  is,  hardly  any.  One 
twenty-cent  piece  and  a  lucky  penny." 

"Heard  some  jingle  when  ye  dumb  the 
fence,"  objected  the  wizard. 

"  That  was  cat — cartridges,"  retorted  Miles, 
drawing  back  uneasily. 

"For  shame,  Abe!"  interposed  the  woman. 
"For  shame!  We're  not  in  the  tent  now: 
no  need  lyin'  to  innocents  like  that.  —  Come 
here,  my  boy,"  she  said  kindly. 

Miles  climbed  toward  the  Seeress,  embar- 
rassed and  deeply  disappointed,  Her  neat 
calico,  her  tired,  honest  face,  smooth  gray 
hair,  and  friendly  eyes  were  a  sore  disillusion. 

19 


ADMIRAL'S  LIGHT 

Where  were  elf-locks  and  eldritch  voice  ?  He 
had  hoped  for  Meg  Merrilies. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  tell  of  a  Pharaoh 
named  Tucker?"  she  asked,  taking  his  hand. 
"Me  neither,  and  that's  my  husband's  name. 
And  if  the  Nile  ever  flowed  in  Sagadahoc 
County,  it  run  dry  'fore  my  day."  She 
smoothed  his  open  palm.  "No  one  can  tell 
fortunes,  sonny,  but  I  can  tell  characters. 
This  palm's  an  honest  palm;  so  take  your 
time,  go  careful,  and  you  '11  grow  to  be  an 
honest  man.  And  a  clever  palm.  There's 
gentle  blood  in  the  veins.  That  always  speaks 
out.  A  good  head,  but  the  heart '11  run  away 
with  it.  Master  power  o'  friendship,  few 
friends.  I  guess  there's  danger  ahead  o'  you, 
but  else  I'm  much  mistaken  you  come  o' 
people  fond  o'  danger.  You'll  do  better  by 
others  than  yourself  —  " 

20 


THE   GYPSY  MARE 

*'  Are  you  coming  to  our  show  ?  "  interrupted 
the  girl.  Miles  turned  shyly.  Girls,  at  Ad- 
miral's Light,  were  rare  as  horses.  And 
though  of  about  his  own  age,  this  was  a 
strange  little  creature.  Her  luminous  brown 
eyes  seemed  at  once  frank  and  shy;  thought- 
fulness  in  the  tanned  oval  face  was  changed, 
by  a  circumflex  arch  of  eyebrows,  to  a  mis- 
chievous, almost  elfin  gravity;  and  her  hair 
reminded  him  of  oak  leaves  in  winter,  except 
that  they  were  dead  and  dull,  and  this  color 
shone  exceedingly  alive. 

*' Coming  to  our  show?"  she  repeated: 
"this  afternoon,  uptown?" 

"I  can't,"  he  stammered.  "We're  too  — 
We  don't  go  to  many  —  many  entertain- 
ments." 

Madge  the  Seeress  gave  him  an  odd, 
shrewd  glance  of  approval. 

21 


ADMIRAL'S  LIGHT 

"Never  mind,"  she  said.  "Most  of  our 
show  you've  seen  already.  Would  you  like 
to  ride  the  Gypsy  Mare,  though.?"  The 
look  on  the  boy's  face  answered.  "Abe, 
let  him." 

The  man  rose,  grumbling,  "A  free  ride, 
when  he's  got  twenty  cents?"  but  never- 
theless disappeared  behind  the  mound,  and 
returned  leading  a  beautiful  sleek  white  mare, 
already  saddled.  "No  pipe-clay  there! "  He 
tightened  girth  and  shortened  stirrups.  "Up 
ye  go,  Squair!" 

Miles  had  ridden  Hab  Belden's  plough- 
horse  once  or  twice,  but  never  a  mount  like 
this.  The  mare  footed  among  the  sorrel, 
swift  and  gentle  as  the  fairy  charger  that 
cantered  over  eggs.  He  pulled  up  reluctantly, 
with  face  glowing. 

"A  born  trooper,"  said  Abram.  "Straight 
22 


THE   GYPSY  MARE 

back,  close  seat,  flat  thigh,  soople.  Ye  rode 
her  like  a  gen'ral!  Now  would  ye  believe 
me,  Squair,  if  I  spoke  but  the  two  words, 
she'd  throw  ye  like  a  rocket.  Five  dollars 
I  oflFer  in  open  tent  for  the  man  or  boy  that 
sticks  her  —  and  only  two  ever  done  it. 
Want  to  try?  Shall  I  speak  to  her?" 

**  Why,  I  don't  know,"  began  Miles. 

"Fraid-cat!"  laughed  the  girl. 

"  Speak  to  her,"  he  ordered  tartly. 

"Throw  him.  Jubilee!"  cried  the  con- 
jurer. 

Miles  felt  the  white  body  tremble  under 
him,  as  in  terror.  With  a  snort  and  a  swoop, 
the  mare  plunged  uncontrollably  along  the 
brow  of  the  hill,  head  down,  switching  her- 
self double  from  side  to  side,  as  a  fish  fights 
in  a  net.  Losing  his  seat.  Miles  caught  it  again 
by  blind  miracle,  just  as  she  spun  dizzily  and 

23 


ADMIRAL'S  LIGHT 

reared  in  lightning  estrapades.  Hereditary 
instinct,  the  spirit  of  the  cavalry  captain,  his 
father,  served  him  well.  Sick  with  fear  —  not 
of  a  broken  neck,  but  of  humiliation  before 
that  girl  —  he  clung  as  in  a  desperate  dream. 
He  felt  the  back  hump  like  a  dromedary's, 
the  close-bunched  hoofs  pound  the  earth  with 
quick,  disintegrating  jars.  Some  one  shouted. 
He  ducked.  A  hawthorn  bough  furiously 
swept  his  back.  The  bole  of  an  elm  flashed 
past,  and  he  was  conscious  of  powdered  bark 
smeared  on  a  smarting  leg.  Then  they  fought 
it  out,  raging  mare  and  raging  rider,  till 
with  a  balk  that  nearly  shot  him  over  her 
neck.  Jubilee  stopped  dead,  and,  trembling 
as  when  she  began,  seemed  gradually  to  sink 
beneath  him.  He  kicked  out  of  stirrups, 
swung  over,  fell  with  a  crushing  pain  in  one 
ankle,  and,  through  an  interminable  leisure 

24 


THE   GYPSY  MARE 

in  which  he  tasted  sour  sorrel,  rolled  clear 
from  the  flourishing  hoofs. 

Roaring  blasphemy,  the  showman  had 
snatched  the  bridle,  and  as  the  white  mare 
rose,  was  beating  her  over  the  head  with  a 
cudgel. 

"Stop  that!"  cried  Miles,  from  the  ground. 

"Roll,  will  ye.?"  screamed  Abram,  shower- 
ing blows  insanely.  "Roll,  God  nourish  ye! 
Never  learnt  that  trick  o'  me!  Roll,  ye  — 
Begin  that  once,  an'  my  theayter's  ruined! 
Roll,  ye  — " 

The  woman  raised  Miles  to  his  feet.  "Not 
hurt,  are  you  ?  Poor  boy !  Much  hurt  ?" 

"No.  Make  him  stop  that!"  he  whim- 
pered. A  white-hot  cord  tied  tighter  round 
his  ankle.  He  Hmped  forward,  but  the  woman 
seized  and  carried  him  toward  the  fence. 

"Go  home  quick!"  she  whispered.  "I 
25 


ADMIRAL'S  LIGHT 

know  him.  He'll  come  at  you  or  me  next, 
if  you  vex  him  now.  Can  you  walk  ?  Quick, 
then,  go  home.  —  Here,  Anna,  see  he  gets 
back  safe." 

Miles  found  himself  in  the  orchard,  drag- 
ging painfully,  easing  his  weight  by  the  gun. 
At  each  halt  the  girl  eyed  him  strangely.  On 
the  slope  above  the  house  he  suddenly  lay 
down. 

"Rest  a  minute,"  he  explained  through 
clinched  teeth.  "I  live  down  there  —  you 
need  n't  come."  The  tawny  hillside  swam. 
His  foot  seemed  to  shrink  and  swell,  with 
alternating  torture. 

"A  thorn's  in  your  cheek,"  said  the  girl. 
"No,  the  other  side."  He  pulled  the  sharp 
point  out  mechanically.  "Did  n't  that  hurt? 
What's  your  name?" 

"Miles  Bissant,"  he  said  indifferently.  In 
26 


THE   GYPSY  MARE 

a  long  stillness  sounded  the  dry,  faint  click  of 
grasshoppers,  snapping  upward  in  short  arcs 
roundabout. 

"Mine's  Anna  Hilliard,"  she  volunteered; 
and  after  another  silence,  "I'm  sorry  I  said 
—  that.    Good-by." 

By  her  voice,  she  was  crying.  Through 
half -opening  eyes,  he  saw  her  hair  glimmer. 
Something  warm  touched  his  cheek. 

He  sat  up,  indignant,  rubbing  the  spot  with 
more  energy  than  if  the  thorn  had  stung.  A 
hard  patter  of  bare  feet  fled  up  the  path. 

"What  a  silly  girl!"  thought  Miles,  in 
disgust.   "Glad  nobody  was  round." 


CHAPTER  n 

CAPTAIN   FLORIO 

"Runagates,"  said  his  grandfather,  with 
mournful  relish.  "I  had  hoped  you — but 
what's  in  the  blood  will  out.  All  runagates!" 

Athwart  the  dim  panes  of  the  bedchamber, 
hackmatack  boughs  swayed  to  the  chill  drone 
of  a  dying  wind.  A  rigid  proJBle  against  twi- 
light, the  old  man  spoke  as  to  some  third 
presence.  Often  the  boy  had  seen  that  pro- 
file, ploughing  a  furrow  of  thought  which 
cast  him  aside;  yet  he  stirred  on  his  pillows 
uneasily,  almost  guiltily. 

"So  with  Christopher,"  continued  the 
speaker,  "and  so  with  your  father  Godfrey. 
When  they  strayed  off  into  the  world,  what 

£8 


CAPTAIN   FLORIO 

did  they  become?  A  sailor  to  be  drowned 
and  a  soldier  to  be  killed.  My  sons  were  small 
comfort." 

"My  father,"  objected  Miles,  timid  yet 
indignant,  "was  fighting  for — " 

"And  what  if  he  was.?"  exclaimed  his 
grandfather,  turning  with  a  violent  start. 
"Does  that  excuse  you,  sir,  for  scouring  the 
country  with  gypsy  thieves  ?  Eh  ?  And  risk- 
ing your  neck  at  horse-jockey  tricks?  And 
lying  useless  abed  this  fortnight,  while  Ella 
and  I  do  your  work  at  the  lights  ?  Next  you'll 
slip  off,  like  them,  and  then  the  contract  for 
the  light-keeping  will  be  taken  away,  and  I'll 
become  a  pauper  indeed.  Runagates!  Eh? 
What's  that?  What  did  you  mutter ? " 

"Nothing,  sir,"  said  Miles.  He  under- 
stood now  the  old  man's  gloom,  and  lay  still, 
with  long  thoughts  of  pity  and  contrition. 

29 


ADMIRAL'S  LIGHT 

The  rebuke  was  just:  had  he  not  been  lying 
here,  his  head  full  of  day-dreams,  plans,  vain- 
glorious romance  ?  He  could  ride  —  he  had 
proved  that;  he  loved  the  sea  with  an  inborn 
longing.  Which,  then,  was  the  better  life, 
soldier's  or  sailor's  ?  Dull  peace  at  home,  he 
had  thought,  was  not  to  be  endured.  The 
brief  spice  of  action,  of  danger,  had  so  edged 
his  fancy  that  the  whole  fortnight  had  passed 
among  conjured  shapes  of  adventure:  brig- 
antines  navigated  through  seas  not  in  the 
atlas,  coral  islands  raised  against  the  dawn, 
typhoons  weathered,  cannibals  beaten  ofif  — 
were  these  better  than  a  red  whirl  of  cavalry, 
with  trumpets,  with  sabres,  with  leather 
creaking  like  Jubilee's  saddle?  The  choice 
had  seemed,  at  times,  easy  and  immediate. 
And  now  grandfather  had  somehow  scolded 
him  to  his  senses.   He  could  not  put  the  new 

30 


CAPTAIN    FLORIO 

emotion  into  words,  but  in  a  flash  he  had  seen 
that  this  pictured  joy  of  Kving  was  the  mere 
pride  of  Ufe. 

"What 's  wrong ?"  grumbled  the  old  man. 

"Ankle  twinged.  Nothing,"  replied  Miles. 
He  could  not  explain  what  brightness  had 
died  out.  —  Ella's  step  mounted  toward  them, 
and  the  shadow  spokes  of  banisters  wheeled 
in  a  striped  flange  across  the  ceiling,  before 
he  spoke  again. 

"Don't  worry  about  all  that,  grandfather." 

The  advice,  the  audacity,  surprised  them 
both;  neither  was  aware  that  between  boy- 
hood and  youth  a  door  had  closed  forever. 

Closed  it  had,  nevertheless,  and  Miles, 
when  afoot  once  more  and  outdoors,  wondered 
vaguely  at  the  change  in  his  little  world. 
Frost-bitten  fields,  white-caps  on  the  border 
river,  birch  groves  and  maple  shifting  their 

31 


ADMIRAL'S  LIGHT 

bleak  reticulation  against  a  sky  that  threat- 
ened snow,  —  these  formed  a  background 
for  new  and  sober  thoughts.  He  had  lost  the 
conviction  that  his  future  must  be  different, 
transplanted  and  transformed,  bright  with 
surprise,  excitement,  and  good  fortune.  All 
that  was  nonsense.  Here  lay  his  life,  studying 
by  day,  trudging  by  night  down  to  the  twin 
lamps;  for  variety,  he  wore  now  his  thread- 
bare reefer,  now  his  mittens  and  great  helmet 
of  moth-eaten  fur;  now  plodded  on  snow- 
shoes  over  drifts,  where  powdered  gold  puffed 
upward,  at  each  step,  into  the  lantern-light; 
now  cleared  the  tower  windows  of  damp 
snowflakes;  now  waded  in  hip-boots  through 
pools  of  freshet.  One  deeply  starred  spring 
night,  he  surprised  himself  recalling  that  the 
girl's  name  was  different  from  Abram's. 
"Perhaps  she  was  adopted,"  he  thought,  as 

S2 


CAPTAIN   FLORIO 

he  sniffed  the  damp  sweetness  of  reviving 
earth,  "  or  an  orphan,  like  me."  On  the  heels 
of  this,  he  could  excuse  her  folly:  "I  was 
hurt,  of  course,  and  she  felt  sorry  that  she'd 
stumped  me.  Perhaps  Abram  would  beat 
her,  too  — "  Why  should  he  speculate,  so 
long  afterward,  about  persons  whom  he  would 
never  see  again? 

The  next  years  saw  him  grow  into  a  young 
man,  silent,  grave,  with  a  tranquillity  that  a 
stranger  might  have  mistaken  for  content- 
ment. On  one  point,  indeed,  he  was  con- 
tented: his  grandfather,  who  had  rebuked 
his  father's  memory,  could  find  no  major 
fault  with  the  second  generation. 

One  June  evening  he  lay  stretched  on  the 
mouldered  planks  of  the  Admiral's  deck,  a 
book  of  next  day's  lessons  opened  flat  before 
him.  A  sunset  swarm  of  midges,  down-sifted 

33 


ADMIRAL'S  LIGHT 

by  a  breath  of  air,  suddenly  confused  Euclid's 
lines  and  dots  with  a  dance  of  jigging  motes. 
Miles  swept  an  impatient  hand,  glanced  off 
the  page,  and  forgot  both  insects  and  trape- 
zoids. A  boat  was  making  straight  toward 
him, — a  green  "lap-streak"  dinghy,  rowed 
by  some  Yankee  from  across  the  river,  and 
carrying  on  the  stern  thwart  a  jaunty  pas- 
senger in  light  gray.  No  sooner  had  the  boat 
nosed  the  undulating  fringe  of  seaweed  than 
the  stranger  sprang  nimbly  to  the  rocks,  and 
scrambled  over  their  slippery,  tangled  hum- 
mocks, in  a  diagonal  course  up  the  beach. 
He  disappeared  under  a  shoulder  of  the  bank, 
and,  as  Miles  still  lay  wondering,  suddenly 
emerged  from  the  firs  beside  the  old  quarter- 
deck. 

"Hello!"  he  said,  with  an  odd,  pleasant 
intonation.    "May   I   come  in?  Jolly   little 

34 


CAPTAIN    FLORIO 

nook  for  reading,  have  n't  you  ?  No,  don't 
get  up.  Just  tell  me  how  to  strike  the  path 
to  the  house,  above  there,  will  you?" 

Except  the  tender's  gig,  no  boat  ever 
touched  at  Admiral's  Light.  No  such  visitor, 
certainly,  had  landed  within  Miles's  recollec- 
tion. Burly  but  active,  with  the  body  of  a 
blacksmith  or  pugilist  clad  in  pale  gray  flan- 
nels of  a  knowing,  worldly  cut,  he  seemed 
at  once  young  and  mature,  sophisticated  and 
breezily  adventurous.  The  same  hand  which 
held  two  primly  folded  gloves  bore  on  its 
back  a  foul  anchor  tattooed  in  blue.  Bright 
gray  eyes  in  a  swarthy  face,  clean  cutwater 
profile,  reckless  good-humor  playing  about 
the  lips,  bespoke  one  who  had  taken  a  man's 
share  of  life  with  a  boy's  share  of  amuse- 
ment. 

"Do  you  know  the  old  gentleman  that  lives 
35 


ADMIRAL'S  LIGHT 

up  there?"  he  continued.  "Your  grandfa- 
ther, eh?  Well,  now,  perhaps  you  can  tell 
me.  Had  he  a  relative  named  Christopher  ?" 

"That  was  my  uncle,"  said  Miles,  getting 
to  his  feet. 

"The  dickens!  You!"  cried  the  stranger, 
and  grasped  his  hand.  "You!  Does  n't  that 
beat  the  merry  Hell  —  elujah  ?  You  Kit 
Bissant's  nephew!  He  stood  up  for  me  when 
I  was  a  prentice  your  size.  Ever  hear  him 
tell  about  Florio ?  TonyFlorio?  No?  That's 
so,  why  should  he?  His  nephew,  by  Jove! 
Is  n't  it  a  funny  little  world,  though  ?"  With 
twinkling  eyes,  he  studied  the  boy's  face, 
then  turned  abruptly.  "I'm  ofiF  to  tackle 
the  old  gentleman.  See  you  later!" 

His  footsteps  rang  hollow  and  distant  on 
the  gully  footbridge.  Miles,  listening,  felt 
unreasonably  glad.  Unreasonably,  as  often, 

36 


CAPTAIN    FLORIO 

in  spite  of  all  geography,  a  long  hill  suggests 
a  hidden  prospect  of  plain  or  ocean,  as  a  turn 
of  woodland  road  beckons  to  some  joyful 
ambush  or  far-thought  pilgrimage,  so  the 
landfall  of  this  stranger,  the  alacrity  and  vigor 
of  his  contact,  promised  immediate  events. 
Just  what  events,  the  youth,  with  all  his  eager 
surmise  while  climbing  homeward  through 
attenuate  shadows,  could  not  guess. 

Their  evening  meal  —  a  haddock  usually, 
with  cornbread,  tea,  berries,  or  cheese-cakes 
—  the  old  man  always  called  dinner,  and 
further  dignified  by  appearing  in  the  crum- 
pled broadcloth  and  linen  of  a  bygone  genera- 
tion. To-night  he  entered  with  even  greater 
solemnity,  leading  to  their  bare  little  table 
the  sun-burned  man  in  gray. 

**My  grandson  Miles,  Captain  Florio,"  he 
said.  And  bending  his  fierce  old  countenance 

37 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

toward  the  one  flickering  candle,  he  added 
in  the  same  breath:  ''For  the  bounty  of  the 
present  day,  and  of  all  days  past  and  to  come, 
we  thank  thee,  O  Lord,  and  now  seek  thy 
blessing."  With  the  same  stiff  ceremony,  he 
did  the  honors  for  the  haddock,  presided 
over  the  raspberries,  and  ignored  the  flus- 
tered awkwardness  of  Ella. 

The  stranger  appeared  to  enjoy  both  his 
fare  and  his  company. 

"Beautiful  country  hereabout,  Mr.  Bis- 
sant,"  he  declared  heartily.  "Beautiful,  by 
George !  Shore  life  for  me,  if  't  was  all  like 
this.  I  tell  you.  Miles,  we'll  have  a  jolly  time 
together.  Show  me  your  lighthouses  to- 
morrow night,  will  you?  Right!  What  are 
they,  fixed?  You  know,  once  when  I  was 
wrecked  off  the  Hook  of  Indramaiu  —  " 

He  rambled  into  stories  of  orient  and  tropic 
38 


CAPTAIN   FLORIO 

seas.  Had  they  been  of  anthropophagi  and 
antres  vast,  Miles  could  have  listened  no 
more  hungrily;  for  even  at  second  hand,  this 
was  the  life  which  he  once  had  dreamed.  The 
sole  incredibility  was  that  such  a  brilliant 
tropic  wanderer  should  now  shine  out  in  their 
gloomy,  sequestered  house.  The  mountain 
had  come  to  Mahomet,  the  world  to  a  cap- 
tive. His  grandfather,  visiting  Miles  at  bed- 
time, brought  explanation. 

"My  boy,"  he  said  —  and  for  the  first 
time  in  their  life  together  he  spoke  with  hesi- 
tation, almost  as  though  making  excuses  to 
an  equal  —  "my  boy.  Captain  Florio  is  to 
be  our  —  that  is,  hmm!  well,  our  lodger." 
Frowning  at  the  candle  flame,  he  brought  out 
the  word  defiantly.  "I  should  never  consent 
to  this  —  mercenary  relation,  but  it  seems  — 
he  was  a  friend  of  my  son  Christopher's.  He 

39 


ADMIRAL'S  LIGHT 

will  stay  with  us  for  some  time.    It's  —  it's 
unnecessary  to  say  more.   Good-night." 

HumiUation  underlay  the  speech  —  hu- 
miliation which  Miles  felt  dimly,  but  could 
not  share.  A  lodger's  money,  even  a  dam- 
aged pride,  counted  little  against  the  change 
from  apathy  to  interest,  from  silence  to  fire- 
side and  table  talk,  from  routine  to  variety. 
Next  morning,  indeed,  five  minutes  after 
lessons.  Miles  had  forgotten  that  the  rela- 
tion was  mercenary. 

"Hello,"  Florio  hailed  him.  In  jersey  and 
puttees,  he  looked  like  some  heavy-weight 
amateur  training  in  retirement.  "Look  here, 
how's  this?  Caught  Ella  carrying  water  up- 
hill from  that  gully  below.  There's  a  spring 
above."  He  waved  up  toward  the  site  of  the 
burned  mansion. 

"That  hill 's  too  steep,"  said  Miles. 
40 


CAPTAIN    FLORIO 

"Ho-ho!"  laughed  the  other.  "You're  a 
bright  boy,  are  n't  you,  now  ?  Come  along 
topside  with  me." 

Two  joyful  days  followed,  in  which  they 
built  a  little  wooden  aqueduct  from  the  Ad- 
miral's Spring  down  to  a  trough  at  Ella's 
very  door.  When  nails  gave  out,  the  sea- 
farer joined  their  supports  with  marvelous 
temporary  lashings.  "Chinese  trick,"  he 
grinned.  "Now  we'll  run  the  flowage  down 
into  your  gully.   How's  that,  senor  ?  " 

With  ties  no  less  secure  he  had  bound  Miles 
to  admiration,  as  much  by  his  manual  cun- 
ning, his  boyish  enthusiasm  for  practical 
designs,  as  by  his  galloping  accompaniment 
of  strange  tales.  Hammering  or  sawing  like 
a  born  carpenter,  he  recalled  sharp,  flashing 
pictures  of  life  in  antipodes,  —  pearl-divers 
in  Polynesia,  "sun-downers,"  mutinous  coo- 

41 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

lies  at  sea,  plague-stricken  pilgrims  to  Mecca 
dying  like  flies,  aboard  ship;  midnight  mur- 
derers in  sampans. 

"Damn  it,  no  Captains  and  Misters!" 
he  cried  once.  *' There,  I  didn't  mean 
—  your  grandfather  '11  ship  me  off  for 
swearing!  But  call  me  Tony.  Let's  be 
chums." 

Chums,  therefore,  they  became,  though 
not  without  capitulation.  The  lighthouses 
first  showed  them  certain  differences. 

"Do  you  mean,"  cried  the  wanderer,  as 
they  stood,  one  evening,  in  the  glare  of  the 
lamp-room,  "do  you  mean  to  say  you  leave 
a  warm  bed  twice  every  night  to  watch  these 
two  tame  lightning-bugs?  Let  'em  burn, 
boy!  Get  your  sleep.  What  the  devil,  they'll 
not  go  out;  or  if  they  did,  who'd  know? 
Must  be  as  many  as  one  schooner  a  fortnight 

42 


CAPTAIN    FLORIO 

pass  that  ledge  after  dark.  Ho,  ho !  You  stay 
in  bed!" 

"But  it's  our  agreement,"  Miles  pro- 
tested. 

The  sailor's  gray  eyes  twinkled. 

"Roman  sentinel,  eh.^  That's  nonsense, 
boy.  Take  your  beauty  sleep.  Let  'em 
burn." 

"Why,  't  wouldn't  be  honest,"  said  the 
young  keeper,  somewhat  shocked. 

"Honest?"  jeered  Florio.  Then  his  tone 
changed.  *'Oh,  well,  no  harm  done.  Strict 
ideas  —  I  s'pose  somebody's  bound  to  have 
'em.  Tough  on  you,  all  the  same." 

The  upshot  of  their  argument  was  that 
with  high  good-nature  Tony  insisted  on 
making  the  last  rounds  himself.  "I'm  used 
to  night  work.  This  is  my  pidgin.  You  go 
to  bed." 

43 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

The  volunteer  was  faithful.  Often  there- 
after, waking  by  force  of  habit  at  midnight 
or  three  in  the  morning.  Miles  rose  from  his 
pillow  to  watch,  for  a  luxurious  instant,  the 
sailor's  lantern  bobbing  along  through  under- 
brush far  below.  He  dropped  asleep  with 
drowsy  gratitude.  Yet  in  spite  of  kindness 
and  the  ascendency  of  experience,  his  new 
friend  left  something  unfinished,  dubious, 
unexplained.  To  grandfather,  the  man  was 
another  commercial  contract  like  the  light- 
keeping,  a  fender  against  evil  days,  a  pre- 
sence courteously  tolerated;  to  Ella  —  and, 
through  her,  perhaps,  to  the  outer  world  — 
a  "  visitin'  gentleman,"  friend  of  the  late 
Captain  Christopher;  to  Miles,  a  frank  com- 
panion and  —  what  ? 

Why  should  a  man  in  the  thirties,  ebullient 
and  a  rover,  suddenly  choose  to  vegetate? 

44 


CAPTAIN    FLORIO 

Grandfather  had  called  him  "Mercury  Rest- 
ing." For  all  his  cheerful  enthusiasm,  the 
sailor  could  care  little  about  their  northern 
valley,  the  sad,  rugged  beauty  of  their  border. 
When  Miles  proposed  a  favorite  tramp,  he 
had  replied:  "Kilmarnock  Brook?  What's 
to  see  there?  Nothing  but  scenery."  Nor 
could  books  dull  the  edge  of  his  restlessness. 
"No,  thank  you.  Not  much  on  reading,"  he 
replied,  when  grandfather  gave  him  the  free- 
dom of  the  meagre  "library."  And  later,  out 
of  doors,  he  explained  to  Miles:  "Print's 
nearly  all  lies.  Now  them,  why,  every  day, 
right  in  the  open  air,  you  can  meet  live  men 
that'll  tell  you  them  —  fresh  Hes,  not  old  ones, 
—  and  act  'em  out  to  boot.  So  why  rack 
eyesight  over  print?"  Meantime,  he  taught 
Miles  to  box,  and  with  his  aid  rebuilt  the 
kitchen  chimney,   pruned  the  deserted   or- 

45 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

chard,  shored  up  the  Admiral's  quarter- 
deck. Yet  these  employments  could  not 
last. 

Again,  he  had  said,  "I'm  alone  in  the 
world."  And  yet  after  a  tranquil  month,  he 
was  plainly  fretting  about  letters.  He  and 
Miles  often  traversed  the  river  road,  up  hill 
and  down,  to  the  half-deserted  village  of  Kil- 
marnock; and  always  on  the  final  crest,  the 
red  granite  ledge  where,  sudden  as  a  night- 
hawk's  downward  wheel,  the  freed  vision  of 
the  climbers  fell  wide  over  a  landward  pro- 
spect, following  toward  the  sunset  alternate 
wedges  of  bright  water  and  black  crenelated 
headlands,  —  there,  always,  the  sailor  paused 
and  sat  down. 

"I'll  smoke  here,"  he  said.  "Great  view, 
eh  ?  Land  and  water,  land  and  water  —  in 
layers,  like  Ella's  chocolate  pie  o'  Sundays." 

46 


CAPTAIN   FLORIO 

Then,  nodding  toward  the  slate-gray  houses 
clustered  far  below  in  a  meadow  cove:  '*You 
go  on  down  and  ask.  May  be  a  letter,  this 
time." 

Once,  when  Miles  clambered  up  again, 
empty-handed  as  ever,  the  sailor  sat  mus- 
ing. 

"Can  you  keep  a  secret?"  he  asked,  with 
a  glance  at  once  introverted  and  shrewd. 
"  We  're  mates,  are  n't  we  ?  Right,  then. 
You're  the  sort  a  man  can  trust.  If  a 
stranger  comes  asking  for  me,  or  any 
foreign-looking  man,  you  know,  you  keep 
your  tongue  at  home,  and  come  straight 
to  me,  first.  I  '11  tell  you  why,  some  day. 
Long  story  — " 

He  watched  a  slim  pillar  of  smoke  rising 
from  a  cottage  chimney,  out  of  evening 
shadow,  to  vanish  in  the  breeze  on  their  glow- 

47 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

ing  height.   Then  he  sprang  up,  and  started 
briskly  homeward. 

"Sometimes,  you  know,"  he  said,  when 
they  had  scrambled  down  hill  for  a  furlong, 
"sometimes,  at  sea,  a  man  makes  enemies." 


CHAPTER   III 

THE   SAFFRON  MAN 

As  warmth  in  a  dying  man,  so  life  in  the  vil- 
lage of  Kilmarnock  had  retreated  from  the 
extremities.  Gray  cabins  stood  for  the  most 
part  with  sunken  roof  and  yawning  window; 
here  and  there,  where  a  wall  had  fallen  out, 
they  exposed,  as  for  the  stage  purposes  of 
some  unacted  melodrama,  the  intimacy  of  all 
their  little  rooms  at  once,  —  the  ragged  wall- 
paper, the  zigzag  mounting  scar  of  stairs 
long  vanished,  the  hearthstones  choked,  in 
winter  with  snow,  as  now  with  autumn  chick- 
weed.  Beyond  these  dead  environs,  a  brook, 
with  cool  and  hearty  noises,  tumbled  out  of 
its  brown  alder-shadow  to  halt,  slacken,  and 

49 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

wriggle  in  a  delta  of  deep-channeled  rivulets 
through  seaweed  and  long  mud-flats.  And 
here,  where  fairy  falls  descended  to  that  vile 
foreshore,  the  heart  of  the  village  beat  feebly 
in  a  half-dozen  houses,  weather-silvered. 

In  the  post-oflSce,  —  a  littered,  gloomy 
shed  which  was  also  carpenter's  shop,  wheel- 
wright's factory,  and  woolen  mill,  —  a  few 
sad  old  men  sat  always,  talking  slowly  and 
vaguely;  while  underneath,  the  roaring  brook 
made  the  floor-boards  vibrate,  and  flashed 
through  chinks  and  knot-holes  the  whiteness 
of  cascade  foam. 

"Mornin',  Miles,"  wheezed  Mr.  Quinn, 
the  postmaster.  An  elephantine  man,  —  old 
Mr.  Bissant  called  him  Quinbus  Flestrin, 
after  the  man-mountain  Gulliver,  —  he  rum- 
maged with  slow,  fat  hands  in  Her  Majesty's 
salt-box.    "Here's  that  letter  you  folks  be'n 

50 


THE    SAFFRON    MAN 

waitin'  for,"  he  puffed.  "Didn't  know  you 
had  relations  over  there,  neither.  Poor  hand 
they  write,  I  must  say.  Oh,  now  I  ketch  it! 
'A.  Florio,  Es-qusLiT,'  That's  him  that's 
stayin'  up  to  your  place,  ain't  it  ?" 

Miles  nodded,  all  impatience. 

"*Care  of  Richard  Bissant,  iJ^-quair,'" 
read  Quinbus  gravely,  holding  the  letter  at 
different  lengths  of  focus.  "Say,  they  tell 
me  he  ain't  a  boarder,  after  all!  Now,  I 
thought  he  might  be  a  rusticator,  like  the 
city  feller  to  Lo vat's  that's  got  the  narvous 
prostrates.  They  say  his  fingers  fidges  dret- 
ful,  that  feller." 

Miles  listened  politically,  and  was  at  last 
rewarded  with  Tony's  letter. 

"Hear  ye  got  noo  neighbors  down  your 
way,  "  began  Quinbus,  but  his  auditor  es- 
caped. 

51 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

His  news,  moreover,  went  unheeded;  for 
in  three  steps  down  the  grass-ribbed  street 
Miles  overtook  a  surprise.  A  little  man 
trundling  a  keg  of  nails  in  a  barrow  set  down 
the  handles  with  a  sigh,  and  turned.  His  hair 
was  grayer,  his  cheek  engraved  with  deeper 
lines,  his  aspect  less  cheerful  and  thriving; 
but  the  swart  face  and  shifting  black  eyes 
were  those  of  Abram  the  Magician. 

It  was  like  a  piece  of  boyhood  restored. 
Halting,  Miles  ventured  the  question,  — 

"Is  n't  your  name  Tucker,  sir.?" 

"What  if  't  is .?"  growled  the  man,  defiant 
and  suspicious. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  rejoined  Miles,  taken  aback. 
"Only  I  rode  your  mare  Jubilee  once  — " 

"Dessay,"  snapped  Abram.  He  spat  on  his 
hands,  stooped  to  the  shafts  of  his  barrow, 
and    growled,    "Lots    o'    lummockses    did. 

52 


THE    SAFFRON   MAN 

Damn  'er  hide!  Dunno  that's  reason  to  ben- 
der a  man's  work." 

"Or  to  be  uncivil,"  Miles  retorted  stiffly, 
taking  a  leaf  from  his  grandfather's  book  of 
pride.  But  it  was  with  a  chuckle  that  he 
passed  on,  and  swung  into  the  path  along 
the  shore. 

It  was  a  bright  Saturday  morning  of  late 
September.  Across  the  border  a  thin  haze 
of  forest  fires,  from  "back  lots"  far  behind 
the  river  hills,  veiled  the  high,  resolute  con- 
tours of  the  American  shore;  but  in  all  other 
quarters  the  air  shone  clear  and  buoyant, 
mellow  but  cordial,  like  the  sweetness  of  a 
frosty  apple.  Goldenrod  along  his  path  had 
ripened  to  a  higher,  drier  yellow ;  seaweed  on 
the  rocks  below  —  that  turned  the  broad  flats 
into  a  "rookery"  of  shaggy  forms,  petrified 
in  the  act  of  basking  —  seemed  to  have  lost 

53 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

the  greenish  tinge  from  its  leathern  brown; 
ahead,  down  the  sparkling  vista  of  the  river, 
the  bay,  by  a  sleight  of  mirage,  raised  islands 
a  hair's-breadth  above  the  horizon,  till  be- 
neath them  sea  and  sky  joined  with  that 
pale,  stretched  continuity  seen  in  downward- 
parting  drops.  A  world  unclouded  and 
untroubled :  yet  the  sky  held  the  growing 
whiteness  that  foreruns  autumnal  wind,  and 
a  loon,  winging  high  with  bedlam  laughter, 
steered  his  flight  by  the  flight  of  an  unrisen 
gale. 

Miles  loitered,  yet  was  busy  rather  with 
thought  than  sight.  What  could  bring  Abram 
to  Kilmarnock?  The  fat  postmaster  would 
have  not  only  mentioned  a  "show,"  but  dis- 
cussed it  tediously;  where,  then,  were  Terry 
and  Jubilee,  and  Madge  the  Seeress,  and  the 
little  barefoot  girl?   His  sudden  sharp  curi- 

54 


THE    SAFFRON    MAN 

osity,  above  all  on  this  last  head,  astonished 
him.  Why  should  he  care?  —  yet  he  con- 
tinued to  speculate. 

His  path  skirted  among  sweet-fern,  mullein, 
and  pink  granite.  The  little  fir  promontory, 
roughly  double-serrate  like  the  edge  of  an 
elm  leaf,  suddenly  hid  the  upper  lighthouse, 
for  shore  and  path  bent  sharp  into  Alward's 
Cove.  Here  a  deserted  house  stood  at  the 
grassy  mouth  of  an  ancient  watercourse; 
and  behind  it,  a  grove  of  slender  white  birches 
had  already  begun  to  shed  yellow  leaves, 
which  so  carpeted  the  dark,  strait  hollow  that 
a  sunlight  seemed  to  glow  faintly  upward. 

Suddenly  Miles  saw  that  new  shingles 
patched  the  cabin,  and  that  from  the  chimney 
curled  blue  wisps  of  smoke.  A  battered 
"punt"  lay  hauled  above  the  thin  rubbish 
line  of  high  water.    But  what  most  deeply 

55 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

surprised  him,  the  beginnings  of  a  weir 
straggled  down  the  beach.  He  laughed  aloud. 
The  stakes  were  freshly  driven,  but  the  cedar 
poles  green-coated  with  many  tides;  on  old 
material  the  builder  had  exerted  an  inexpe- 
rience glaring  even  in  these  first  few  yards ; 
and  more  than  all,  Alward's  Cove,  a  narrow 
cleft  half  a  mile  above  low  water,  was  for  a 
weir  the  worst  possible  situation. 

Glancing  up  at  the  patched  house,  he  cut 
his  laughter  short.  Behind  the  panes  a  girl's 
face  vanished  into  the  gloom.  The  features 
he  could  not  have  sworn  to,  but  the  hair 
shone  indubitably  bright.  Ashamed  to  be 
caught  mocking  her  weir,  he  set  out  again 
briskly;  and  he  had  rounded  the  little  pro- 
montory before  confusion  cleared  into  the 
surprising  knowledge  that  he  was  glad  of 
something.     These   were   the   neighbors    of 

56 


THE    SAFFRON   MAN 

whom  Quinbus  would  have  told;  the  keg  of 
nails  was  for  that  absurd,  futile  weir;  and  her 
hair  was  of  the  color  of  winter  oak  leaves. 
Why,  again,  should  he  care  ?  —  but  care  he 
did,  even  to  excitement,  with  an  obscure 
feeling  that  his  acts,  even  his  thoughts,  now 
had  as  it  were  a  witness,  and  that  now  any 
day  could  promise  pleasant  and  unexpected 
turns.  He  could  not  account  for  this  glowing 
satisfaction,  —  that  some  one  had  become 
mysteriously  involved  and  identified,  in  his 
mind,  with  the  bright,  volatile  strangeness  of 
autumn. 

On  the  doorsteps  at  home,  Tony  smoked 
his  pipe. 

"Ah,  the  beggar's  written  at  last,"  he 
grumbled;  then  unfolding  a  single  sheet, 
read  it  calmly,  without  comment.  Miles, 
who    had    always    vaguely    connected    this 

57 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

coming  letter  with  "enemies  made  at  sea," 
was  disappointed  to  see  no  more  change 
in  Florio's  dark  face  than  in  his  later 
behavior. 

Weeks  passed  without  incident.  Miles 
went  daily  to  the  village  for  mail  which  was 
never  there,  and  of  which  the  sailor  declared 
no  expectation.  He  returned  down  river 
always  by  the  shore  path — "to  see  how  the 
weir  gets  along,"  he  told  himself  stubbornly. 
It  got  along  slowly,  from  bad  to  worse. 
Sometimes  he  saw  the  magician,  far  out, 
ankle-deep  in  mud,  hammering  stakes,  or 
weaving  brush  wattles  into  his  foredoomed 
structure.  Once  the  blue  of  a  calico  dress 
moved  among  the  white  birch  pillars.  Speech 
of  his  new  neighbors,  however,  or  nearer 
view,  he  did  not  get.  No  face  lurked  behind 
the  window-pane.  And  at  home  the  fir  head- 

58 


THE    SAFFRON    MAN 

land  sundered  them  as  effectually  as  the  rim 
of  a  hemisphere. 

One  night,  at  his  nine-o'clock  visit  to  the 
upper  light,  he  paused  for  a  time  in  the  lamp- 
room,  his  back  to  the  glare,  looking  out  into 
the  dark.  Something  —  perhaps  the  silence 
of  the  evening,  the  calm,  so  great  that  the 
other  tower's  light  pierced  the  water  deeply, 
like  an  inverted  point  of  exclamation  —  in- 
duced lonely  and  melancholy  thoughts.  As  he 
stood  thus,  a  sound  rose  through  the  open 
trap-door.  Something  stirred,  thinly  and 
dryly,  on  the  stairs  below. 

At  first  like  faintly  tearing  silk,  or  scuffing 
sand-paper,  it  mounted.  Footsteps,  thought 
Miles;  yet  such  footsteps  as  he  had  never 
heard,  uncertain,  soft,  and  of  a  person  neither 
shod  nor  barefoot. 

They  stopped.  A  harsh  yet  guarded  call 
59 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

followed.  If  speech,  it  was  no  human  tongue. 
Miles  waited,  in  a  profound  silence.  A  voice 
called  in  strange  sing-song;  then  nearer, 
chanting  what  sounded  like  a  fragment  of 
barbarous  melody. 

Portuguese  and  Italian  sailors  Miles  had 
seen,  on  rare  visits  aboard  some  lumber 
schooner  bound  for  Sicily  or  the  Canary 
Islands.  At  Admiral's  Light,  however,  no- 
thing could  bring  them  ashore,  still  less  up 
into  the  tower.  And  this  sing-song  gabble, 
as  instinct  told  him,  came  from  no  Latin 
throat. 

The  dry,  scuflSng  steps  began  once  more. 
Suddenly,  out  of  the  darkness,  claw-like  fin- 
gers clutched  the  sides  of  the  trap-door,  — 
fingers  of  an  impossible,  horny  yellow,  ending 
in  blue  talons. 

For  one  spasmodic  instant.  Miles,  had  he 
60 


THE    SAFFRON   MAN 

stood  on  open  ground,  might  have  bolted. 
Then  as  up  from  a  pit,  a  reassuring  black 
felt  hat  bobbed  through  the  opening,  and 
tilted  back  to  disclose  a  human  face.  Eyes 
hard  and  bright  as  black  glass  peered  from 
under  lids  curiously  in-folded,  of  double 
thickness;  the  sajffron  cheeks  were  smooth 
as  a  babe's;  and  indeed,  in  that  strange  face, 
as  in  a  changeling's,  baby  innocence  con- 
flicted with  reptilian  age  and  wisdom.  With- 
out alteration,  without  sound,  it  rested  there 
for  a  moment,  at  the  level  of  the  floor,  as 
though  decapitated;  then  sank  from  sight. 

Miles  had  stared  in  fascination.  Waking 
to  anger,  part  at  his  own  fear,  part  at  its 
cause,  he  shouted :  — 

"  Stop !  Who  —  what  are  you  after  ?" 
The  light  scuffing  descended  rapidly.  Miles 
leapt  for  the  black  square,  plunged  through 

61. 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

it,  and  down  the  twisting  stair.  The  thin 
scantling  shook  and  buckled  under  their 
double  weight.  He  jumped  the  lower  steps, 
just  as  the  tower  door  slammed  open  to  let 
a  black  figure  bound  out  into  the  lantern 
light.  A  scurrying  pair  of  thick  white  soles, 
as  he  caught  up  the  lantern  by  the  bail, 
guided  his  pursuit;  he  gained  on  them,  and 
running  his  hardest  to  the  gully  bridge, 
gripped  in  his  right  handlhe  fluttering  full- 
ness of  a  silken  jacket. 

"Stop!"  he  cried.    "You—" 

The  fugitive  tugged,  wriggled,  surrendered, 
and  turned  a  grinning  face. 

"No  can  do,"  he  panted,  nodding  and 
ducking  amiably.  The  felt  hat  was  gone,  and 
his  bobbing  crown  showed  a  high,  shaven 
forehead,  bound  with  neat  black  coils  of 
braided   hair.     "But  in  pictures  they  hang 

62 


THE    SAFFRON   MAN 

down,"  thought  Miles.  "A  queue!"  He  had 
never  before  seen  a  Chinaman. 

"What  do  you  want.?"  he  asked  severely. 

His  captive,  smiHng  and  nodding,  the 
calmer  of  the  two,  repeated,  — 

"No  can  do,  no  can  do." 

Plainly,  the  man's  English  went  no  further. 
Miles  released  his  grip,  and,  feeling  rather 
foolish,  stepped  back  to  consider.  Like  a 
spring  released,  and  with  instant,  mechanical 
precision,  the  Chinaman  vaulted  the  bridge- 
rail,  landed  on  the  steep  bank  below,  and 
darted  upward,  crashing  into  the  alders. 
His  escape,  like  his  first  appearance,  had  the 
facility  of  acts  in  a  dream. 

Flushed  and  bewildered.  Miles  was  half- 
way home  before  he  regained  the  use  of 
reason.  At  a  clap  the  thought  overtook  him. 
What  if  this  were  Tony's  "foreign-looking" 

63 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

enemy?  "I'd  better  make  sure  first,"  he 
told  himself;  and  sitting  by  the  library  fire, 
he  kept  as  thoughtful  a  silence  as  his  grand- 
father and  the  sailor,  perched,  with  intent 
faces,  over  their  chessmen. 

At  bedtime,  he  stepped  across  into  Florio's 
little  room. 

"News  for  you,"  he  began  quietly,  and 
continued  in  an  undertone.  Florio's  hard 
gray  eyes  watched  him  sharply  across  the 
candle  flame,  with  a  look  which  meant,  if 
anything,  impatient  anger. 

An  explosive  whisper  was  the  only  com- 
ment: "Damn  the  coolie!"  Pocketing  his 
big  fists  with  one  energetic  shove,  the  sailor 
stared  down  at  the  floor. 

"Thanks  all  the  same,  of  course,"  he  said 
moodily.  "Quite  right.  That's  the  chap  I 
was  afraid  might  turn  up.    Thanks.    Don't 

64 


THE    SAFFRON   MAN 

speak  of  him  to  anybody  else,  till  I  say  so, 
will  you?  Not  a  word?  That's  right." 

He  sat  down  on  his  bed,  and  unwound  his 
leggings,  neatly,  methodically,  as  though  the 
affair  were  dropped. 

In  some  surprise,  Miles  continued  it. 

"Then  I'll  do  my  turns  to-night,  and  after- 
ward —  the  lamps." 

"Eh  ?"  The  sailor  looked  up,  half  startled, 
half  chagrined.  "What's  that?  — Oh,"  he 
smiled  indulgently,  "  not  much !  Get  to  bed, 
boy.  What,  I'm  not  afraid  of  that  swine! 
Alone,  is  n't  he  ?  Let  me  lay  aboard  him 
once,  that's  all!  Can  catch!  No,  I  won't 
hear  a  word  of  it.  Your  watch  below.  To 
bed!" 

By  no  persuasion  would  he  forego  his  self- 
set  labor,  or  accept  company,  even  for  the 
single  night.  "  Dear  chap,  I  have  some  pride," 

^5 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

he  reiterated ;  and  as  he  oflFered  no  confidences. 
Miles  left  him  with  disappointment.  Yet  his 
cool,  stubborn  attitude  seemed,  in  a  way, 
admirable ;  and  —  to  judge  from  deep,  con- 
tented breathing,  across  the  corridor  —  he 
slept  like  a  child. 

Somewhere  after  midnight,  Miles  woke 
uneasily.  Long  security  had  broken  the 
habit ;  but  now  he  sat  up  once  more,  to  watch 
the  distant  light  of  Tony's  lantern  jerking 
in  fitful  eclipse  among  the  firs.  Near  the 
second  tower  it  disappeared,  as  usual ;  and  as 
usual,  after  a  short  pause  shining  out  again, 
returned  down  river,  skipping  and  winking. 

Suddenly  it  went  out,  and  shone  no  more. 

Miles  crept  from  bed  to  window,  and 
watched.  He  counted  off  three,  four,  five 
minutes,  and  saw  not  another  gleam.  Dis- 
mayed, blaming  himself  for  suffering  Tony 

66 


THE    SAFFRON    MAN 

to  have  his  way,  he  wrestled  into  clothes, 
stole  downstairs,  and  raced  through  the 
sharp  night  air.  Thin  fog,  shoulder-high, 
had  just  begun  to  billow  along  the  ground, 
concealing  and  magnifying,  even  by  starlight. 
Each  tussock,  each  baby  jSr,  loomed  like  a 
waiting  figure  or  stretched  like  a  dead  body. 
Silent  over  the  wet  grass.  Miles  ran  down- 
hill toward  the  spot  where  the  light  had 
ceased. 

Nearing  the  shore,  he  brujshed  through  the 
chill  aspersion  of  bristling  thickets,  when 
suddenly  the  light  gleamed  again,  fixed, 
through  the  lowest  boughs.  He  stopped, 
listened,  then  slipped  forward  cautiously, 
toward  a  murmur  of  voices.  Subdued  but 
unmistakable,  it  was  the  broken  sing-song 
of  that  speech  from  the  other  side  of  the 
world.    He  threaded  without   a   sound  the 

67 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

interstitial  windings  of  the  underbrush,  and 
crouched  at  the  edge  of  the  clearing. 

On  the  old  quarter-deck,  the  lantern  burned 
dimly.  As  in  a  luminous  smoke,  two  men 
sat  talking,  with  now  and  then  a  gesture 
that  set  enormous  hands,  outspread  fingers, 
wavering  on  the  magic-lantern  screen  of  the 
fog.  Their  alien  tones  rose  and  fell,  in  a 
quiet,  scolding  incantation. 

The  more  vehement  speaker  was  Tony. 
Facing  him,  oddly  squatting  upon  heels,  the 
yellow  man  of  the  tower  nodded  continually, 
amicably,  sagely,  like  a  toy  mandarin. 


CHAPTER   IV 
pan's  pipes 

At  breakfast  Tony  discoursed  readily  as 
ever,  smiled  as  engagingly,  with  glances  no 
less  frank,  provocative,  or  droll.  Twice  he 
forced  old  Mr.  Bissant  to  brighten  his  cloudy 
morning  face,  to  smite  with  open  palm  his 
short  white  curls,  and  chuckle;  once,  even, 
to  parry  joke  with  joke.  But  Miles  sat  dazed 
and  unhappy.  Their  little  house,  lacking 
so  many  things,  had  lacked  also  the  presence 
of  a  lie;  before  that  presence,  now,  he  came 
awkwardly,  and  as  it  were  with  eyes  averted. 
He  heard  Tony  laugh,  saw  the  white  flash 
of  his  teeth,  the  quick,  foreign  heave  of  his 
burly  shoulders,  the  nameless  turns  of  speech 
and  look  by  which  friend  signals  to  friend; 

69 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

he  knew  Tony  for  the  same  man  of  yesterday, 
challenging  the  same  admiration;  yet  be- 
tween himself  and  all  this,  a  single  night  had 
stretched  a  dismal  vacuum,  a  distance  slight, 
but  both  intensive  and  insulating.  The  sud- 
den change  puzzled  him  abominably. 

"An  Italianate  Englishman,"  his  grand- 
father descanted,  "they  used  to  call  a  devil 
incarnate.  I  leave  it  to  fancy  what  an  Italian 
who  — " 

"Aha,  but  I'm  not!"  cried  Tony  warmly. 
"I  have  you  there.  My  father  was  Italian 
born,  yes.  That's  only  half.  And  me,  bless 
you,  I  sailed  out  on  an  English  ship  a  twelve- 
year-old.  Under  the  same  flag  ever  since. 
An  English  deck  is  English  soil.  Come  now, 
Mr.  Bissant,  to  be  honest — " 

While  their  debate  ran  high,  Miles  slipped 
quietly  from  the  room. 

70 


PAN'S   PIPES 

Last  night's  fog  had  poured  up  the  chan- 
nel, overflowed  the  hills,  and  now  submerged 
all  but  the  smoky  loom  of  the  hackmatack 
pillars,  as  Miles  passed  between  them.  Sea- 
rime  silvered  his  rough  jacket;  from  beneath 
wet  eyelashes  he  peered  into  motionless, 
white  space;  the  very  hill  underfoot  was  a 
declivity  felt,  not  seen.  He  wandered  slowly 
down  it,  hands  in  pockets,  head  bent. 

To  be  honest!  Tony's  chance  phrase  re- 
curred ironically;  and  after  it,  his  saying  on 
the  hill  above  Kilmarnock,  "You're  the 
sort  a  man  can  trust."  With  what  ?  thought 
Miles  bitterly:  with  lies,  calculated,  shaped 
as  confidences.  He  had  not  known,  before, 
how  utterly  the  older  man  had  captured  his 
liking;  or  how,  divorced  from  belief,  liking 
could  become  reproach.  A  raw  simpleton, 
to  lend  a  stranger  his  heart! 

71 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

In  this  mood  he  found  himself  halting, 
without  purpose,  on  the  Admiral's  quarter- 
deck. From  the  rail  he  saw  neither  rocks  nor 
river,  but  only  the  globular,  spiny  tufts  of 
young  Norway  pines  that  stepped  down 
toward  the  beach.  Wind-slanted,  rooted  in 
crevices,  they  lent  their  fixity  as  a  gauge  to 
sight:  their  needles,  carding  sluggish  vapor, 
freed  the  spellbound  air;  formlessness  be- 
came texture;  and  fleecy  filaments  dissolving, 
twining,  blending,  thick  as  the  smoke  of  wet 
brushwood,  set  the  whole  snowy  void  adrift 
in  level  motion.  Somewhere,  far  below  in 
the  bay,  a  whistle  mournfully  bellowed. 
Nearer  home,  but  deep  in  the  fog,  sounded 
the  unsteady  bumping  of  a  single  oar. 

"Hallo-o-o!"  The  rowing  stopped;  and 
a  moment  later  the  same  high,  clear  voice 
called,  "Hallo-o-o!" 

72 


PAN'S   PIPES 

Miles  trumpeted  through  his  hands  an 
answering  hail. 

"Oh!"  cried  the  rower,  with  evident  re- 
lief. "Hallo  again.  Are  you  a  vessel  or  the 
shore?" 

"I'm  the  shore,"  laughed  Miles.  "What's 
wrong?" 

"I'm  lost  out  here."  The  voice,  floating 
across  the  hidden  surface,  rang  clear  as  from 
the  throat  of  a  singer.  "One  oar  went  over- 
board, and  the  more  I  pull,  the  faster  this 
thing  goes  round  and  round.  And  the  tide's 
running  down — out,  I  mean — and  I  'm  fright- 
ened." The  bumping  noise  broke  in  again, 
and  again  ceased.  "No  use!  Hallo!  Why, 
now  you're  clear  round  on  the  other  side!" 

"Stay  where  you  are!"  cried  Miles  eagerly. 
"Wait.  There's  no  danger.  I'll  come  out 
and  tow  you." 

73 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

He  scrambled  down  to  the  beach,  and 
along  it  to  where  Tony,  for  no  apparent  use, 
maintained  a  small  boat  moored  on  an  end- 
less rope.  Hauling  home  till  the  black  bow 
came  cleaving  the  fog,  he  ordered  perempto- 
rily, — 

"Keep  on  shouting,  there!  What's  the 
matter  with  you  ?  How  can  I  find  — " 

"I  was  just  thinking,"  replied  the  voice 
calmly,  from  no  great  distance.  "  If  you  come 
out,  you  may  get  lost,  too." 

Miles  cast  off,  and  jumped  in. 

"On  this  river?"  He  laughed  somewhat 
breathlessly,  half  at  the  warning,  half  at  a 
strange  excitement  which  had  mastered  him. 
This  drifting  voice  he  had  known,  from  the 
first  hail,  to  be  a  girl's;  what  girl's,  he  had 
nearly  guessed  from  the  second;  and  pulling 
vigorous  oars,  he  was  not  surprised  to  see, 

74 


PAN'S   PIPES 

after  blind  exploration  and  shouting,  the 
square  bow  of  the  magician's  punt  focusing 
from  out  the  heavy  smoke. 

Bareheaded,  half  turned  on  a  thwart,  and 
peering  anxiously  through  that  smoke,  sat 
a  misty  figure,  whose  light,  strong  lines  of 
active  youth  not  even  a  man's  cardigan 
jacket  could  muffle.  She  gave  a  little  cry  of 
deliverance. 

"It's  fine  of  you — "  Something  cut  her 
praise  curiously  short,  just  as  gunwale  swept 
gunwale. 

"Come  aboard,"  said  Miles.  Sheepish, 
and  suddenly  flushed,  he  found  himself  out 
of  all  measure  preoccupied  with  an  unshipped 
oar.  "Careful.  Step  in  the  middle,"  he 
added  mechanically.  His  outstretched  hand 
met  a  warm,  firm  little  grasp,  in  the  same 
delighted  instant  that  two  ankles,  quick  and 

75 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

slender  as  the  feathered  ankles  of  mytho- 
logy, whipped  over  into  the  bottom  of  the 
boat. 

"Make  fast  your  painter,"  he  ordered, 
shipping  his  oar  in  a  dream. 

"Make  my  what?"  cried  his  passenger 
anxiously.  He  managed  at  last  to  look  up, 
and  saw  her  darting  puzzled  glances  into  the 
punt.  Cold  vapors  wavered  about  her  hair 
thinly,  as  though  conquered  and  dispersed 
by  lambent  brightness. 

"Tie  the  rope,"  he  translated. 

"Oh,  this!"  She  obeyed,  her  nimble  fin- 
gers rosy  with  the  cold,  her  shining  head  bent 
so  zealously  over  the  knot  as  to  show  but  one 
brown  cheek  transparently  aglow  with  ex- 
ercise. 

Watching  this  with  unbounded  pleasure, 
he  gave  way.    The  punt  fell  behind,  swung 

76 


PAN'S   PIPES 

dimly  into  their  wake ;  the  rope  rose  taut  and 
dripping;  and  as  though  satisfied  with  her 
knot,  the  girl  suddenly  faced  him,  brushing 
from  her  forehead  an  obstinate  tendril  of 
bright  hair. 

"  Thank  you  for  coming,"  she  said  quietly. 
"I  don't  —  I  don't  know  anything  about 
boats." 

Again  a  fragment  of  boyhood  restored: 
he  met  that  look  of  elfin  gravity,  under  the 
wide  circumflex  of  eyebrows,  more  formid- 
able than  bows  bent  against  him. 

"How  did  you  get  lost?"  he  ventured  in 
confusion;  and,  meaning  kindness,  was  dis- 
mayed to  hear  the  question  ring  like  a 
rebuke. 

"  Weir-poles  —  a  whole  lot  drifted  out  of 
our  cove,"  she  answered,  with  a  flutter  of 
the  same  confusion.    "He  had  worked  so 

77 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

hard  —  It  was  a  pity  to  lose  so  many.  I  had 
to  come  out  after  them.  He  was  —  is  n't  very 
well." 

"Your  father.?"  asked  Miles. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  girl  uncertainly.  An- 
other flush,  a  deeper  color  in  her  cheeks, 
allowed  him  to  guess  at  Abram's  illness. 
"No;  I  call  him  that,  but — he's  all  I  have; 
and  she  was  so  good  to  me  —  his  wife.  She 
sent  me  to  school  winters,  and  would  n't  let 
—  as  long  as  she  lived  — " 

Her  words,  lingering  unfinished,  her  look 
penetrating  the  hidden  distances  of  the  fog, 
seemed  to  dismiss  a  memory  down  some  long 
vista. 

"Were  you  afraid.?"  said  Miles,  between 
strokes. 

"Of  course  I  was,"  she  laughed.  Her  in- 
stant  change   of  mood,   her  glance   swiftly 

78 


PAN'S   PIPES 

returning  to  close  quarters,  but  above  all  the 
radiant  conflict  about  lips  and  eyes,  the  hon- 
est mischief  and  shy  directness,  struck  him 
into  a  panic  joy.  No  countenance  had  ever 
looked  so  quick  with  various  meaning,  so 
tremulous  with  color,  so  dangerously  awake 
and  alive,  as  her  face  now  in  this  floating 
dawn,  this  cold,  nebulous,  elemental  light  of 
the  sea  mist.  It  was  a  discovery  in  his  life, 
a  mystery,  and  a  power.  He  could  have  fer- 
ried her  to  the  farthest  continent. 

"Afraid.?"  she  said.  "What  else.?  I 
thought  I  was  slipping  out  into  the  big  ocean. 
And  the  fog  all  round !  It  was  like  —  like 
sitting  alone  with  a  lot  of  years.  I  thought  of 
my  sins!" 

"You  can't  have  many."  The  words 
sprang  from  impulse,  free  admiration;  he 
could  have  hammered  out  no  compliments; 

79 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

but  she  willfully  mistook  him,  and  laughed 
his  honesty  aside. 

"Ah  now,  what  a  tongue  you  have!"  And 
with  a  provoking  smile,  bending  aside  her 
look,  she  studied  the  smoky  water  that  drew 
astern.  Under  the  gray  cardigan  jacket,  her 
slight,  active  body  in  the  blue  calico  reminded 
him  oddly  of  nacre  shining  in  some  uncouth 
shell,  or  of  hazelnuts  when  frost  has  split 
the  rough  beard. 

A  strange  motive,  as  strong  as  it  was  new, 
forced  him  to  say:  — 

"The  first  time  I  saw  you  — "  All  conclu- 
sion suddenly  failed  him.  "  Do  you  remember 
it?" 

"Remember?"  Again,  and  more  deeply, 
she  watched  the  slow  sweep  of  the  current; 
and  more  deeply  her  blood  tinted  the  sun- 
burned, oval  face.   She  tossed  her  head  with 

80 


PAN'S   PIPES 

a  little  shake,  more  of  impatience  than  of 
denial.   "No,  I  —  I  can't  remember." 

Disappointed,  frustrated,  he  rowed  for  a 
space  in  silence,  knowing  that  the  full  career 
of  their  speech  had  swerved  awry.  In  a 
twinkling  she  had  withdrawn  to  a  lamentable 
distance. 

"But  Jubilee.?"  persisted  Miles.  "And 
Terry,  and  the  dog  —  what  became  — " 

"  All  sold,"  answered  the  girl  curtly.  "  When 
she  died.  Sold  oflp.  Poor  little  old  Terry!" 
For  a  moment  she  sat  alone  with  her  thoughts ; 
then  suddenly  lifting  her  head,  listened. 

"What's  that?"  Her  tone  was  hard  as 
business.    "Do  you  hear  it.?" 

Miles  heard,  and  not  without  anxiety.  A 
steady,  muffled  puffing  sound  labored  dog- 
gedly nearer  through  the  fog.  Against  an 
ebb-tide  that  raced  for  the  bay  and  open  sea, 

81' 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

he  had  rowed  indiflferently,  his  arms  working, 
but  his  thoughts  inclining  to  let  the  boat 
drift.  In  the  charmed  isolation  of  the  fog, 
it  had  become,  for  the  instant,  a  barge  of 
glory,  a  shallop  of  dreams.  Awake  now,  he 
recognized  that  the  "back-eddy"  which  swept 
the  shore  toward  Alward's  Cove  had  not  yet 
seized  their  keel;  that  they  were  still  in  the 
channel ;  that  the  channel  was  none  too  wide, 
and  the  approaching  noise  none  too  far 
astern.  He  swung  full  power  on  his  port  oar. 

"What  is  it?"  repeated  the  girl,  peering 
over  her  shoulder. 

"  Trim  the  boat,"  he  commanded.  "  Can't 
tell.   We're  all  right." 

But  of  this  he  felt  by  no  means  sure.  The 
steady  "puff-puflf"  throbbed  more  and  more 
distinct,  and  with  it  came  a  wide  whisper  of 
rushing  water.    The  vagueness  of  all  direc- 

82 


PAN'S   PIPES 

tion  told  him  that  to  shout,  in  this  thick  ob- 
scurity, would  only  alarm  his  passenger.  He 
tugged  mightily  across  the  current,  hoping 
for  the  sudden  wrench  of  the  counter-eddy. 
It  did  not  grasp  them.  Instead,  the  noise 
fought  closer,  truculent  and  panting;  the 
whisper  of  rushing  surfaces  widened  and 
sharpened,  more  and  more  sibilant. 

A  silent  explosion  seemed  to  hoist  the  lag- 
gard stern  of  the  punt,  which  instantly,  as 
though  stung  into  live  hatred,  came  crashing 
along  their  port  side,  crowding  and  struggling 
like  a  horse  that  fights  his  mate  in  harness. 
Struck  by  this  trough  of  whirling  suds,  an 
oar  shot  into  the  air.  With  a  stagger,  the 
boat  careened  as  to  capsize,  slewed  violently 
on  a  soft  upheaval.  Through  the  mist,  a 
pear-shaped  bag  of  woven  cordage  stole  past 
like  a  phantom,  above  a  low  black  bulwark; 

83 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

at  interminable  intervals,  three  heavy  stakes 
filed  along,  almost  overhead,  —  fenders  hang- 
ing parallel  at  the  same  forward  slant.  Their 
boat,  righting  dizzily,  leaped  once,  cramped 
and  awkward  as  a  sheep  jumping  a  wall. 
And  they  were  left  pitching  on  a  foamy 
wake,  smothered  in  the  smell  of  steam, 
wrapped  by  a  warm  mist  invisible  in  a 
cold. 

"The  oar!   The  oar!"  cried  Miles. 

Long  afterward,  he  admired  her  instant 
foresight.  She  had  already  caught  the  oar- 
blade,  just  as  it  bobbed  past  in  hissing  lather. 
The  tug  steadily  puffed  farther  into  the  dis- 
tance, and  —  now  that  their  need  was  over  — 
began  again  the  hoarse  bellowing  which  Miles 
had  heard  in  the  bay.  For  some  moments, 
exchanging  a  queer  smile  that  conveyed  more 
than   utterance,   each   saw  the  other's  face 

84 


PAN'S   PIPES 

touched,  through  the  gleaming  fog,  with  a 
light  still  more  pale  and  northern. 

"Bail  her  out,"  said  Miles,  nodding  at  the 
half-filled  punt,  while  he  wrestled  with 
broken  thole-pins.  When  at  last  they  were 
under  way,  it  was  in  silence. 

And  yet  danger  had  advanced  each  in  the 
other's  knowledge,  by  that  shared  experience 
which  was  more  than  words,  presence,  or 
time — so  savage,  so  close  upon  the  happy  side 
of  life,  had  flashed  the  traitorous.  Hidden 
together  on  the  river,  in  a  privacy  of  space, 
they  had  heard  the  pipes  of  Pan  the  gracious, 
and  now  Pan  the  terrible  had  "stamped  his 
hoof  in  the  night  thicket." 

The  waves  of  their  enemy's  wake  broke 
widely  along  the  shore,  with  a  pleasant  sound 
as  of  the  sea,  but  roving  and  transitory.  The 
eddy  at  last  eased  the  laboring  oars.   And 

85 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

by  some  mystery  of  the  air,  the  fog  began  to 
blur  and  dissolve,  to  rise  from  a  clearing 
circle  of  water,  from  the  shaggy,  wallowing 
rocks,  the  pink  granite  walls,  the  sombre 
undergrowth,  till  the  fir-tops  reared  like  a 
parapet  in  the  thick  of  a  siege,  with  ragged 
embrasures  and  sharp  merlons  bosomed  in 
the  smoke  of  cannonades. 

"Almost  home,"  said  Miles.  And  while 
he  spoke,  numberless  floating  bladders  of 
seaweed  brushed  beneath,  clogged  the  speed 
of  their  boat,  and  then  let  it  pass  into  clear 
water  at  Alward's.  The  weir,  a  string  of 
cedar  poles,  like  the  tops  of  a  sunken  fence, 
ran  a  broken  parallel  to  their  shoreward 
course. 

"Stop  a  minute,"  begged  the  girl. 

Very  willingly  he  backed  water,  then  rested 
his  oars. 

86 


PAN'S   PIPES 

"Before  we  get  within  hearing."  She  eyed 
him  with  grave  decision.  "I've  been  worried, 
and  I  want  your  —  somebody's  advice." 
Lowering  her  voice,  she  glanced  at  the  weir: 
"Could  a  man  make  his  living  by  that  ?" 

Miles  shook  his  head  gloomily. 

"Never  in  the  world.    I'm  sorry,  but  — " 

"Thanks.  I  thought  so,"  she  interrupted. 
"  I  told  him,  but  he  does  n't  seem  to  care. 
What  will  become  — "  Her  smile  was 
friendly  but  sad.  "I'm  breaking  orders:  the 
one  thing  he  won't  let  me  do  is  to  talk  to 
strangers." 

"Are  we  ?"  said  Miles,  more  gloomily. 

"You  know  we  are,"  she  answered,  look- 
ing down.  "In  one  way,  no.  If  that  thing 
had  passed  over  us,  out  there  — "  The  gray 
cardigan  did  not  hide  a  passing  shiver.  For 
a  time  her  bright  head  remained  drooping. 

87 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

"No,  we're  not.  I'll  ask  you.  Do  you  know 
a  man  named  Florio  ?" 

"Do  I?"  he  cried.  "He  lives  with  us, 
down  there!" 

"What  is  he.?"  she  asked  eagerly.  "What 
does  he  do.?" 

"Nothing,"  answered  Miles,  with  a  puzzled 
scowl.    "I  —  I  don't  know." 

"He  and  my  father  seem,"  she  began, 
then  paused.  "Has  he  anything  to  do  with 
fish  —  with  herring .?" 

"Except  to  eat  them!"  Laughing  at  her 
incongruous  picture  of  Tony,  Miles  suddenly 
felt  a  new  and  curious  pang.  "Do  you  like 
him?" 

She  would  not  look  up. 

"I  —  I  hate  him!"  Her  answer  trembled 
with  vehemence.  "Row,  please.  Quick,  I 
must  get  home!" 

88 


PAN'S   PIPES 

He  gave  way  once  more,  unaccountably 
glad.  The  bow,  lifting,  grated  in  sludgy  sand. 
Neither  spoke  until  he  had  dragged  the 
magician's  punt  well  up  the  beach.  Though 
standing  nearly  shoulder-high  beside  him, 
she  had  grown,  as  if  at  the  touch  of  land, 
magically  smaller;  yet  her  presence,  her  in- 
fluence, freed  from  the  confines  of  the  boat 
and  the  mist,  not  only  stood  more  remote 
but  reared  more  alarming.  Their  adventure, 
which  had  seemed  limitless,  now  poignantly 
ended. 

"I  hope,"  he  began,  "I  hope—"  He 
longed  vaguely  to  offer  help,  but  against 
what  ?  And  why  did  she  still  look  down,  as 
though  afraid  or  angry  ? 

"What  ye  doin'  down  there  .^"  growled  a 
thick,  slurring  voice.  "  Good-f 'r-nothin', 
traipsin' — told  ye  — " 

89 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

The  bank  and  upper  shore  formed  a  layer 
of  solid  reality,  below  the  brooding  unreality 
of  the  fog.  The  little  house,  gray  and  rag- 
gedly patched,  stood  close  at  hand,  against 
the  white  shafts  of  birches.  In  the  open  door 
stood  Abram,  swaying  blindly. 

"Come  'ere!"  he  grumbled.  "Come  'ere 
to  me!    I'll  learn  ye — " 

He  brandished  an  uncertain  fist,  lurched 
a  step  forward,  and  stumbled.  The  rising 
bank  hid  his  fall. 

Without  looking  back,  the  girl  went  slowly 
up  the  beach. 


«      • 


CHAPTER   V 
THE   HIGH   WOODS 

"  Signs  ain't  no  great,  I  never  'lowed,"  said 
Ella  thoughtfully.  Sweeping  her  knife  in  a 
neat  semicircle,  she  pared  the  dough  round 
the  edge  of  a  tin  plate.  The  sweet,  steamy 
breath  of  apple  pies  filled  the  kitchen,  con- 
sorting genially  with  the  soft,  high  sunshine 
reflected  upward  from  snow-fields  without. 
"No  more  ducks'  breast-bon's  for  me!  No- 
vember, and  see  there!"  She  pointed  at  the 
frosty  window-panes.  "Open  winter!  What's 
a  shut.^  And  for  cold,  why,  'fore  breakfast, 
the  what's-name's  'way  down  below  the 
other  thing." 

She  knelt  before  the  stove,  cautiously  placed 
91 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

her  newest  product,  and  rose  muttering,  her 
freckled  cheeks,  powdered  with  flour,  rouged 
with  heat  from  the  oven. 

"Don't  tell  me!"  she  grumbled,  as  though 
taxing  Miles  with  the  weather's  iniquity. 
"Yisterday,  fall.  To-morrow,  winter.  On- 
seasonable,  and  ondignified,  like's  if  the 
powers  was  playin'  us  tricks.  'T  ain't  the  wet 
kind  that  goes,  but  the  dry  that  keeps  aholt. 
Below  what's-name,  too.  Beats  Old  Roper!" 

Through  the  glistening  stillness  came  a 
thin,  mellow  jingle. 

"Sleigh-bells!"  Ella  nodded,  with  an  air 
of  angry  wisdom.  "Another  year  gone.  Shoo- 
fly!  No  more'n  last  week,  first  mud  to  out 
on  wheels;  and  here's  them  things  a-calan- 
galin'  round  again!" 

Helpless  against  this  revolution  of  the  sea- 
sons, Miles  laughed. 

92 


THE   HIGH   WOODS 

"Not  my  fault,  Ella."  Listening  to  the 
jog-trot  cadence  of  the  bells,  he  added, 
"They're  coming  here." 

"Ain't  neither  —  yes,  they  are  too!"  Ella 
bustled  to  the  back  window,  and,  twisting  her 
apron  into  knots,  stared  eagerly  up  the 
smooth,  white  heave  of  the  hill.  "Who'll 
it  be,  s'pose?  All  is,  he'll  break  out  our 
ro'd  for  us !  I'd  ought  to  reco'nize  any  bells 
o'  twenty  mile  round  —  do,  too.  Them's 
either  Old-Hab,  or  Lazy-Hab,  or  Cal  Mar- 
tin the  tinker." 

Against  the  pale  sky,  with  a  slow  and 
broken  jangling  of  bells,  appeared  a  sorrel 
horse.  He  shambled  steeply  down,  knee- 
deep  in  drifts,  yet  straining  to  hold  back  a 
broad  sled.  The  driver,  swathed  to  the  eyes, 
precariously  embraced  a  sled  stake,  like  a 
trained  bear  hugging  his  pole. 

93 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

"Old-Hab's  boss,"  reported  Ella. 

"Ho  there,  Danamite!"  sounded  a  smoth- 
ered growl.  The  bells  cut  their  music  short; 
and  a  moment  later  Old-Hab  himself  bat- 
tered the  door,  and,  entering,  unwound  a 
woolen  muffler  white-furred  with  frozen 
breath.  His  bony  cheeks,  at  last  uncovered, 
shone  glazed  and  flaming. 

"By  the  hokey,"  he  grumbled,  breathing 
sharp  and  stamping  his  yellow  "larrigans'* 
on  the  oilcloth.  "Smells  good  in  here.  Miss 
Dawson.  Black  as  night,  too.  Takes  this 
piercifyin'  cold  to  aidge  a  man's  stum- 
mick  and  ffle  his  teeth.  Dretful  holler,  this 
weather!" 

"Eatin'!  What  did  I  say .?"  With  the  ready 
grievance  of  a  comedian,  Ella  turned  to  Miles. 
"Eatin',  I  says,  is  the  first  word  Hab  Belden 
speaks  inside  this  house!   There  ye  go." 

94 


THE   HIGH    WOODS 

The  teamster,  unmoved,  began  to  shed 
jacket  after  jacket,  —  a  grimy  sheep-fleece, 
a  worn  reefer,  a  faded  blanket  coat  belted 
with  tarred  rope.  After  each  struggle  he 
diminished  in  bulk,  as  though  peeling  layer 
by  layer  to  the  core;  till  at  last,  dashing  his 
cap  on  the  discarded  pile,  he  emerged  like 
Burleigh  from  the  Lord  Treasurer,  and  stood 
forth  as  a  little,  wiry,  beardless  man  in  a 
brown  jersey.  His  narrow  body,  sharp,  frost- 
red  features,  and  Indian  hair  brushed  fiercely 
back  in  coarse  lines,  gave  him  an  eager,  wind- 
swept air,  as  of  a  weather-cock  facing  the 
winter  blast.  In  a  gusty  way  he  veered  upon 
Ella. 

"You  can  talk  like  Day  o'  Pentecost," 
he  said,  admiring.  "But  don't  tell  us  ye 
can't  beat  the  old  house  afire  at  cookin'! 
I   says  to  'em   all,   up    Sweet  Water  way, 

95 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

they  can't  use    the    same    oven   with   Ella 
Dawson." 

"Shoo-fly,"  retorted  the  cook  contempt- 
uously. None  the  less,  she  rummaged  for 
dishes,  and  slowly  arranged  them  on  the  table. 
The  flatterer  was  soon  plying  an  expert 
knife. 

"Well,  Mr.  Mile,"  he  continued,  "I've 
come  o'  business  to  your  gran'father.  Con- 
sarns  you,  but  no  hurry.  Cares  can  wait: 
Old  Appetite,  not  so. — Now,  why  don't  a 
handy  girl  like  that  ever  git  merried?'* 

"Much!"  cried  Ella  angrily.  She  turned 
her  back,  and  stared  out  at  window,  mutter- 
ing, "Waste  time  ketchin'  some  glutteron 
to  cook  for?"  No  one  but  a  Bissant  might 
have  known  what  memory  her  scorn  dis- 
guised, or  in  what  gale  Ben  Constantine  went 
overboard,  thirty  years  ago. 

96 


THE   HIGH    WOODS 

A  feeble  step  came  down  the  passage.  The 
inner  door  opened. 

"Mornin',  Mr.  Bissant."  Their  visitor 
finished  his  coffee  at  a  gulp  and  sprang  up, 
nodding  and  ducking.  "Health  fust  rate,  I 
hope,  siY?'' 

"Fair,  thank  you,"  replied  the  Admiral's 
brother.  "And  yours,  Mr.  Belden.?"  His 
white  head  inclined  gravely.  Perhaps  it  was 
the  upward-slanting  glow  in  the  sunny 
kitchen,  perhaps  some  subtler  effect  of  the 
strange,  untimely  cold;  but  of  late,  and  now 
especially,  he  seemed  to  Miles  far  more  old 
and  frail.  Age  had  stolen  upon  him  in  his 
chamber,  as  winter  had  surprised  the  yel- 
low autumn  fields. 

"Mine's  tol'able,  thank  ye,"  repHed  the 
teamster.  "Now  fust  crack,  sir,  here's  the 
whole  point,  and  no  offense.   I'm  bound  up 

97 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

to  High  Woods,  after  cord- wood;  also  to 
mark  handy  spots,  p'r'aps,  for  gittin'  out 
knees.  Sleddin"s  fine:  might  be  February. 
Now  to  Kilmarnock  is  neither  youngsters 
ner  able  bodies.  No  one  free  to  go  but 
my  son,  Lazy-Hab,  who  ain't  no  great,  all 
knows,  beside  he's  a  hard-o'-hearin'  man. 
I  got  kind  o'  desprit.  *What,  miss  all 
that  splendid  goin'?'  thinks  I.  'Won't 
neither.  There's  young  Mr.  Mile,  the  big- 
ness of  a  man  a'ready.'  Now  all  I  ask  is, 
will  he  ride  along  o'  me,  week  or  ten 
days,  and  do  a  man's  work  for  a  man's 
wages  .'^" 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  old  Mr.  Bissant 
in  slow  surprise.  "It's  pretty  cold,  Habak- 
kuk.   The  mercury  showed  — " 

"My  feelin's  is  better 'n  any  old  jibo- 
meter!"  cried  the  other  recklessly.    "'Scuse 

98 


THE   HIGH   WOODS 

my  common  way,  sir,  but  it  '11  do  the  young 
man  good." 

"True  for  once!"  cried  Ella,  with  sudden 
animation.  "Let  him  go!  If  anybody  ever 
needed  a  change!  He's  been  mopin'  and 
sykin'  about  this  house  like  a  sweetheart 
in  a  picture  book!" 

Miles  felt  his  grandfather's  eyes  fasten 
on  him  so  odd  a  scrutiny  that  he  gladly  heard 
the  interruption  of  Tony's  laugh.  "Yes,  let 
him  go  skylark,"  called  the  sailor,  loung- 
ing in  from  the  passage.  "The  lad's  been 
cooped  up  till  he's  stale.  I'll  keep  all  ship- 
shape for  him  here.  This  last  fortnight  he's 
hardly  spoken  to  us  —  sour  even  on  his  old 
mate!" 

"You're  right,  Florio.  You're  always 
right."  The  old  man  nodded.  Seldom  had 
his  wrinkled  face  appeared  so  tolerant,  his 

99 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

eyes  and  voice  so  regretful  and  kindly.  "I 
hate  to  lose  you  out  of  sight,  boy,  but  — 
perhaps  — " 

"Slip  your  cable!"  laughed  Tony. 

So  Miles  went  with  Habakkuk  Belden 
to  the  High  Woods. 

"Thought  he'd  knock  under,"  chuckled 
the  teamster,  as  they  slid  jingling  through 
the  powdery  snow.  "Here,  Mile,  drive 
Danamite  whilst  I  git  a  pipeful  o'  Mun- 
dungo.  Yes,  sir,  a  turr'ble  persuadin'  tongue 
I  got,  if  a  man  can  brag  o'  gifts.  The  pen 
of  a  ready  writer!  But  the  Old  Sir  looks 
peeked.  Mile.  Standin'  so  in  the  door,  I  saw 
a  breath  o'  feebleness  go  out  again'  him. 
Well,  stren'th  don't  hitch  up  with  years. 
G'  long  there.  Danger!" 

The  road  ran  high  and  lonely  over  the 
ridges.    Their  eyes,  dazzled  with  leagues  of 

100 


THE    HIGH    WOODS 

white  glare,  blurred  with  tears  in  the  sweep 
of  a  freezing  wind,  gained  power  slowly  to 
descry  the  milder  gleam  of  the  channel  far 
beneath,  and  beyond  this,  the  billowing  of 
the  Maine  hills,  softened  by  distance  and 
the  smoothing  magic  of  the  snow.  Some- 
times, dipping  into  a  smothered  hollow 
among  firs,  they  suffered  again  a  momentary 
blindness,  in  the  obscurity  of  dark  green 
and  shadowed  white;  and  again,  yet  once 
more  dazed  with  wide  brilliancy,  climbed 
higher  and  farther  from  the  river,  up  an 
immense  and  softly  convex  curve,  toward 
the  fugitive  sky-line.  Black  evergreen  tops, 
the  distant  relics  of  some  grove,  dotted  the 
hill  like  ermine;  or  singly,  and  closer  to  hand, 
like  feathered  arrows  that  a  giant  might  have 
shot  straight  downward.  Rarely  these,  how- 
ever; so  free  was  the  north  wind,  so  shelter- 

101 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

less  and  dry  the  snow,  that  by  turns  the  sled 
groaned  over  frozen  mud,  and  stuck  fast  in 
smoking  drifts. 

As  the  two  men  pushed  and  tugged  to  aid 
the  horse,  or  slapped  their  aching  hands, 
or  stamped  and  kicked  the  sled,  they  ex- 
changed few  words.  The  slow  jangling  of 
the  bells  traveled  in  the  void,  a  stray  mote 
of  cheerful  sound. 

To  Miles,  looking  back  down  many  a 
long  slope,  they  chimed  with  vague  but  happy 
thoughts.  He  surveyed,  in  shining  perspec- 
tive from  this  eminence,  not  only  his  native 
valley,  but  the  last  fortnight  of  his  life  there. 
Ella  was  wrong,  he  had  not  moped;  Tony 
was  wrong,  he  had  hardly  considered  their 
estrangement;  here  was  the  real  truth:  be- 
fore that  adventure  in  the  fog,  he  had  passed 
his  days  in  a  brown  study,  and  after  it,  had 

102 


THE   HIGH    WOODS 

been  whirled  into  the  glowing  rout  of  life. 
A  hundred  dim  things  which  had  passed 
him  by  he  now  saw,  heard,  felt,  and  thrill- 
ingly  understood. 

Two  regrets  lingered:  he  had  not  seen 
again  either  the  man  or  the  girl  of  Alward's 
Cove;  and  from  them  he  traveled  farther  at 
every  shake  of  the  bells.  Yet  all  that  was  but 
temporary;  and  meanwhile,  to  his  strange, 
new  vision  of  the  world,  the  simplest  detail 
in  this  simple  journey  was  a  bit  of  exultation. 

The  woods  at  last  received  them  into  vast 
and  crowded  silence.  The  sorrel  horse,  with 
steaming  haunches,  plodded  heavily  through 
a  dark  lane  of  virgin  whiteness,  between 
puffy,  undulating  banks  of  buried  under- 
wood. Beyond  or  through  these,  in  broken 
glimpses  of  depth,  white  and  black  trunks 
so  lurked  and  interchanged  in  reciprocating 

103 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

movement  as  to  create  an  illusion  of  pre- 
sences —  many,  yet  one  —  who  dodged  and 
spied  and  followed.  There  seemed  no  other 
life  in  all  this  stillness.  Yet  now  and  then, 
in  sunny  clearings,  a  line  of  tiny  hollows, 
filled  with  shadowy  blue,  marked  some  late 
woodland  errand;  the  straight  trot  of  a  fox, 
scored  alongside  with  shallow  scoops  of  his 
brush;  the  neat  cuneiform  written  by  par- 
tridge claws;  the  bunched  all-fours  of  a  leap- 
ing rabbit,  or  the  beaten  stream  where  his 
whole  tribe  had  flowed  over  log  and  knoll 
into  some  green  cavern.  When  drifts  halted 
the  sled,  and  brought  the  bells  to  silence 
or  single  notes,  an  invisible  brook  chuckled 
from  among  willows,  its  runnels  gossiping 
under  ice  and  snow. 

At  dusk  the  two  men  reached  a  dark  little 
shanty  in  second-growth  beeches. 

104 


THE   HIGH    WOODS 

"W'oa  there,  Gyastieus!"  cried  Hab. 
"Here  y'  are.   Stand  by  to  unlo'd  dunnage!" 

That  night  they  spent  in  watches,  turn 
about,  sleeping  and  tending  fire;  and  be- 
fore dayhght  were  out  and  away  to  distant 
groves  of  birch  and  maple.  A  week  of  happy, 
vigorous  days  fled  by.  Sometimes  the  two 
chopped  side  by  side;  sometimes  they  sep- 
arated for  whole  mornings,  each  alone  in 
the  snowy  wilderness,  but  for  the  ringing 
shock  of  the  other's  axe  in  frosty  wood,  half 
a  mile  away.  The  novice  felled  his  trees, 
first  with  reluctance  at  such  treachery  to 
old  friends,  but  later  with  a  workman's  pride. 
In  the  beginning  they  crashed  through  their 
neighbors'  tops  in  a  violent  cloud  of  snow, 
dazzling  as  an  explosion  of  diamond  dust; 
but  now  they  dropped,  groaning,  with  one 
clean  swing  into  their  foreseen  places. 

105 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

At  noon  Miles  met  Habakkuk  in  the  lee 
of  a  tall  granite  boulder,  blackened  with 
smoke,  and  crowned  with  the  red  spikes 
of  sumac.  Here,  over  a  leaping  fire,  they 
boiled  snow  for  their  coffee,  and  thawed 
their  frozen  food;  and  here  they  lounged  for 
a  half  hour  of  vernal  warmth  and  drowsi- 
ness. Snow,  melted  by  noonday  sun  above 
and  flame  beneath,  dropped  round  them 
from  the  branches,  in  white  batons  that 
broke  and  dispersed  in  mid-air.  A  thin  arc 
of  pale  green  grass  bordered  the  melting 
semicircle  where  they  sat,  with  steaming 
moccasins,  while  Old-Hab  growled  some 
slow  account  of  "getting  out  knees,"  of 
swamping,  stumpage,  the  excellence  of  beech 
for  "water-log  work,"  and  all  the  personal 
traits  of  Nasty  Ellum,  Old  Popple,  and 
Master  Oak. 

106 


THE    HIGH    WOODS 

Night  found  them  tired  in  camp,  sleeping 
or  watching  the  fire.  Once  or  twice  only 
they  sat  together  talking. 

"  Yes,  sir,  for  my  years,  I  stay  clever,"  said 
Habakkuk,  on  one  of  these  rare  occasions. 
Smoking  wisely,  he  pointed  his  weather- 
vane  countenance  toward  the  glow.  "Can't 
leave  Old  Mundungo  alon',  but  never  teched 
Rum.  Result  is,  spry  and  tough  as  linkum- 
vity.  Old-Hab  they  call  me;  but  that's  jest 
to  tell  apart  from  Lazy-Hab.  Now  me,  al- 
ways fond  o'  work;  him,  always  talkin'  o' 
luck  and  lookin'  for  easy  ways.  Never  could 
break  that  boy  to  harness.  A  hard-o'-hearin' 
man,  he  is;  but  eyes  like  a  bee.  Always 
connivin'  round  and  spyin'  after  truck. 
Spoilt  a  turnip-field,  one  time,  diggin'  for 
gold." 

The  teamster  chuckled,  meditating. 
107 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

"Cap'n  Kidd's  pirate  money,  once,  he 
'lowed  't  was  hid  somewheres  along  ar  shore. 
To  see  him,  those  days,  you'd  thought  the 
price  o'  clams  had  ris'.  And  shortly  after- 
words, havin'  eyesight  like  a  bee,  the  young 
fool  found  some  kind  o'  mound  up  into  a 
patch  o'  woods.  Took  spade,  pick,  and  lan- 
trun,  and  sneaked  up  there  one  night.  Old 
Postmaster  Quinn  see  his  light,  and  bein' 
always  of  a  busy-brain,  followed  him  after. 
Found  Lazy-Hab  over  a  dug  hole,  pryin' 
open  a  chist  full  o'  stuff. 

***Whatye  doin'?'  shouts  Quinn.  *Come 
away  from  that!' 

"Lazy-Hab,  bein'  a  hard-o'-hearin'  man, 
kep'  right  on.  So  Quinn  claps  mouth  to  ear, 
and  bellers  'Small-pock!' 

"Lazy-Hab  give  a  jump  like  Sam  Patch, 
and  run,  and  never  stopped  for  spade  or 

108 


THE    HIGH    WOODS 

lantrun.  'T  was  that  Portugee  sailor's  kit, 
died  o'  the  small-pock  up  to  Barry's." 

Again  the  wood-chopper  laughed,  quietly. 

"All  one  same,"  he  continued,  growing 
serious,  "that  ain't  sayin'  the  Old  Sir  did  n't 
bury  no  pirate-money  round  these  parts." 
He  rose  suddenly,  nodding  with  an  air  of 
mystery.  "Reminds  me.  Come  along  till 
I  show  ye." 

Bundling  himself  warmly,  and  seizing 
the  lantern,  he  led  Miles  outdoors,  round 
the  hut,  through  the  whispering  withered 
leaves  of  the  stunted  beeches,  and  up  a  steep 
rising  ground.  Wading  thigh-deep,  or  scram- 
bling over  dry  granite,  they  gained  the  rocky 
summit  of  a  little  hill. 

"I  see  it  a  fortni't  ago,"  said  Old-Hab. 
"Up  here  alon'.  P'r'aps  't  won't  show  to- 
night."   He  pointed  across  the  vast  dark- 

109 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

ness  of  the  valley.  "Down  there's  the  river, 
and  my  finger's  'bout  on  that  bit  o'  island 
opposite  your  place.  Now  from  tide-water, 
she  looks  all  solid  fars  and  spruce,  don't 
she  ?  But  up  here,  daytimes,  they  show  jest 
a  ring-round,  like,  and  a  bald  spot  in  the  mid- 
dle.   Now,  one  night  —  " 

He  bosomed  the  lantern  under  his  sheep- 
skin coat.  In  starlight,  they  faced  a  bitter 
wind,  hearing  only  the  whisper  of  the  beeches 
and  the  distant  bark  of  a  fox. 

"Watch!  Nothin',  is  they  ?  Well,  p'r'aps 
—Hold  on!   See  there!" 

Far  off  and  far  below,  a  point  of  light 
gleamed,  winked,  shone  steady  for  some 
minutes,  and  was  gone. 

"Jest  like  other  time,"  said  Hab.  "Now 
what  d'  ye  make  o'  that?" 

Miles,  wondering,  could  find  no  explanation. 
110 


THE   HIGH   WOODS 

"Me  neither,"  muttered  his  companion, 
as  they  descended  to  the  hut.  "Some  one 
diggin'  for  the  Old  Sir's  money  ?  I  give  it 
up.  Ain't  pic-nic  weather,  any  rate,  jibo- 
meter  below.  Not  tellin'  fo'ks,  but  some 
loafin'  weather  I  may  take  a  look  there  my- 
self—  invest  things,  kind  of." 

Without  further  incident  their  ten  days 
drew  to  a  close.  Though  they  climbed  the 
hill  a  second  time,  no  light  appeared  on  the 
island.  Their  speculation  flagged,  and  soon 
Miles  was  to  forget  it,  along  with  other 
trifles. 

They  were  returning  from  a  day's  work 
below  the  hut,  and  had  crossed  a  long  bog 
or  heath,  where  the  pent-up  water  of  some 
brook  shone  toward  the  sunset,  a  broad, 
pale  mirror  of  green  ice.  On  the  upper  side 
of  this  they  had  gained  the  road,  which  ran 

111 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

roundabout  with  the  low,  skirting  alders, 
black  against  the  west,  —  a  belt  of  night, 
between  the  last  daylight  sinking  vertically 
in  the  sky  and  the  last  daylight  horizontally 
retreating  along  the  ice. 

"Somebody  comin',"  said  Old-Hab  sud- 
denly.   Both  men  paused  and  listened. 

They  heard  no  bells,  but  in  the  extreme 
silence  of  twilight  caught  a  faint  jingle  of 
trace-chains,  and  the  frosty  creak  of  run- 
ners, following  Hab's  own  runners  in  the 
ruts  of  a  week  ago.  Some  one  drew  slowly 
nearer,  invisible  in  the  black  band  of  night, 
but  moving  as  an  obscure,  watery  reflection 
along  the  sallow  ice,  darkening  the  thin, 
inverted  fringe  of  alders.  The  picture  of  that 
still  approach,  long  afterward,  became  for 
Miles  the  symbol  and  essence  of  all  mis- 
giving. 

112 


THE   HIGH    WOODS 

A  white  horse  appeared,  drawing  a  swad- 
dled figure  on  a  sled. 

"Hallo!"  called  the  voice  of  Tony. 

He  pulled  up,  and  fixed  them  with  a  strange 
look,  his  eyebrows  sharply  contracted  in  the 
dusk. 

"Is  that  you?"  His  tone,  though  matter 
of  fact,  was  subdued  and  changed.  "Miles, 
old  chap,  I  —    They  sent  me  after  you." 

"Has  —  has  anything  happened,  Tony?" 

The  sailor  nodded  soberly. 

"Your  grandfather  wants  to  see  you. 
You'd  better  come  along."  He  hesitated, 
then  fell  back  upon  that  homely  phrase 
which  trouble  has  consecrated.  "He  —  he's 
a  very  sick  man.  Miles.   I'll  take  you." 

It  seemed  to  Miles  that  all  his  life  he  had 
foreseen  and  known  this  moment  in  the 
dark  woods. 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE   COUNCIL 

The  house,  as  they  plunged  down  the  last 
hill  at  midnight,  showed  orange  squares 
above  and  below,  —  the  windows  in  both 
stories,  lighted  as  for  some  rare  festivity. 
The  sight  was  unfamiliar  and  daunting. 
So,  when  the  door  opened,  was  the  strange 
new  dignity  with  which  Ella  admitted  him 
and  answered  his  unspoken  question. 

"Asleep;  restin'  quiet.  Cap'n  What's- 
name  here '11  take  Quinn's  hoss  home.  Come 
get  your  supper,  and  then  straight  to  bed." 

He  obeyed,  as  in  a  dream.  In  whispers, 
by  the  yellow  lamplight,  she  forced  him  to 
eat  and  drink;  then  led  the  way  upstairs. 

114 


THE    COUNCIL 

As  they  tiptoed  past,  the  door  of  the  sick- 
room stood  ajar.  Miles  peeped  in.  A  shawl 
curtained  the  bed  from  lamp  and  firelight, 
but  even  in  deep  shadow  the  sleeper's  face 
wore  a  sinister  mask  of  alteration. 

"To  bed  now,"  whispered  the  servant. 
"I'm  settin'  up,  Miles."  She  touched  his 
shoulder  gently.   "  Come.  To-morrow  '11  do." 

He  lay  down,  fully  dressed,  and  ready 
for  misfortune.  Dozing  through  the  dark 
hours,  he  roused,  from  time  to  time,  at  an 
imaginary  summons.  Weariness  conquered, 
however,  and  when  he  woke  Ella  stood 
watching,  from  beside  a  window  flooded 
with  sunshine. 

"He  wants  to  see  ye,  after  breakfast," 
she  said  quietly.  "Doctor  's  come  and  gone 
again.  I  would  n't  wake  ye,  poor  dear.  No 
noos.    No  change,  either  way." 

115 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

Again,  using  a  forgotten  title  of  child- 
hood, she  compelled  him  to  sit  at  table : 
"You  must  keep  up,  little  Cap'n.  Can't 
have  two  sick  men."  That  new,  quiet  au- 
thority of  hers  remained  a  strange  comfort, 
even  as  he  mounted  the  stairs. 

His  grandfather  lay  sunken  among  pil- 
lows, his  eyes  closed,  his  features  pale,  gaunt, 
profoundly  calm.  Of  suffering,  of  life  itself, 
no  more  trace  appeared  than  in  a  carven 
effigy  of  patience.  Then  quite  suddenly 
his  eyes  opened,  roved  about  the  room  in 
feeble  search,  and,  resting  on  Miles,  lighted 
dully. 

"Ah,  the  boy!  Come  sit  by  me."  He 
whispered  hoarsely,  and  with  slow  effort. 
"  I  've  got  my  orders,  have  n't  I  ?  Not  long, 
my  boy,  not  so  very  long  now." 

To  hear  their  dread  thus  put  roundly  into 
116 


THE    COUNCIL 

words,    aloud,    from    the    man's    own    lips, 
seemed  at  first  a  tragic  impropriety. 

"Oh,  grandfather,  no!"  Miles  faltered, 
without  conviction. 

"Yes."  The  old  man  smiled  strangely, 
placidly.  "I  knew  it.  Only  a  bad  cold  to 
start  with.  I  could  shake  that  off  — "  He 
stirred  impatiently,  as  if  to  prove  his  words, 
then  sank  back  in  resignation.  "Heart  too 
weak.    I  overheard  the  doctor." 

Somehow,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life. 
Miles  felt  that  his  grandfather's  frown  was 
rather  habitual  than  unkindly. 

"Well,  it's  no  great  matter.  Miles."  The 
voice  continued,  halting  and  broken,  some- 
times clear,  sometimes  a  whisper.  "So  long 
as  you  came  time  enough  —  all  right.  Now 
I  want  to  make  my  confession.  Don't  you 
be  too  hard  on  me." 

117 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

Crabbed  age  and  youth  had  hved  together, 
and  Hved  happily,  under  fixed  conditions 
of  authority  and  deference;  and  now  the  old 
man's  words,  or  rather  something  of  anxiety 
in  his  look,  appeared  to  reverse  all  their 
common  habits,  to  set  their  life-long  atti- 
tude topsy-turvy.  A  judge,  severe  and  just, 
present  above  the  young  man's  daily  acts, 
swaying  his  blindest  motives,  had  imper- 
ceptibly become  an  unknown  strength  and 
necessity.  To  have  this  strength  suddenly 
fail,  this  judgment  submit  to  his  own,  gave 
Miles  a  forlorn  sense  of  uncertainty,  of  lone- 
liness. Independence,  that  stern,  hard- won 
privilege,  was  now  granted  him  without 
warning,  thrust  violently  into  his  heart.  And 
the  same  hand  which  planted  this  new  gift 
plucked  up  thoughts  and  feelings  rooted  in 
his  childhood. 

118 


THE    COUNCIL 

"It's  this  sailor,  Florio,"  said  the  old  man. 
"He's  been  very  heavy  on  my  conscience. 
He  lied  to  me,  but  I  could  use  it,  and  so  I 
lied  in  turn  —  to  you  —  perhaps  the  whole 
neighborhood —  At  my  age —  It's  all  dis- 
graceful!" 

He  paused,  and,  resting,  seemed  to  cast 
about  for  words. 

"I've  been  very  hard  with  you.  Yes  — 
heavy  load,  tight  rein.  I  was  —  was  afraid 
you  might  slip  away.  And  I  want  you  to 
start  well  —  to  go  far.  You  must  be  some- 
thing better  than  a  book-worm,  like  me  —  a 
broken-down  surveyor  of  land.  Eh.?  Yes, 
better  than  your  father  Godfrey,  or  Chris- 
topher; yes,  or  my  brother  George,  the  Ad- 
miral himself.    Perhaps.    Look  to  it." 

A  fit  of  coughing  interrupted  him. 

"No,  sit  there.  I  must  talk,  anyway," 
119 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

he  continued  weakly.  "Stand  by.  Paupers 
and  poorhouses — I've  always  talked  those 
at  you,  have  n't  I  ?  Why,  boy  ?  Because  I 
was  a  miser.  We  kept  lighthouse  —  for 
money.  That  does  n't  matter;  but  the  worst 
is — "  A  faint  flush  had  stolen  into  his 
hollow  cheeks.  "The  worst  is,  I  even  kept 
this  half-breed  fellow  —  God  knows  who  he 
may  be;  he's  no  friend  of  Christopher's  — 
I  saw  that  in  the  first  week,  but  I  took 
his  money.  Hard — but  I  hated  —  oh  yes, 
disgusting  —  a  shame ! " 

With  a  stifled,  inarticulate  sound,  the 
speaker  paused,  and  closed  his  eyes  for  a 
time,  then  bent  them  on  Miles  in  a  timid 
appeal. 

"Miser,  that's  the  word.  But  —  I  was 
saving  everything,  good  and  bad  —  saving 
for  the  fund,  for  your  start.   I  taught  you  as 


THE    COUNCIL 

far  as  I  could.  Now  promise  me  you'll  go  far- 
ther. Out  —  away  from  here  —  the  world  — 
study  —  work.  There's  enough  for  a  year, 
perhaps  two.  All  yours  —  black  and  white 
—  my  box.  You  must  use  it  well  —  came 
hard.  Say  you're  not  ashamed  of  me!" 

The  distance  between  age  and  youth,  the 
mist  of  self,  the  vague  screen  dividing  their 
daily  lives,  were  annihilated.  In  sudden 
wisdom  and  contrition,  Miles  bent  his  head 
beside  this  man  whom  he  had  never  known 
before. 

"Ashamed?"  he  cried,  dimly  measuring 
the  sacrifice.  "Ashamed.?  Oh,  grandfather!" 

"Come,  come,  then!"  Something  of  the 
testy,  hard  old  voice  returned  for  the  in- 
stant. "Come,  then,  it's  all  right.  What  did 
the  old  preacher  say,  that  they  burned? 
*It's  given  to  no  man  to  choose  the  time  or 

121 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

manner  of  his  death.'  Not  a  case  of  Nunc 
Dimittis,  I'm  not  allowed  to  see  it  through. 
What  of  that?  At  least—  Call  the  thing 
unfinished  —  a  man  cut  down  in  hot  blood 
—  does  n't  feel  it  —  Only,  you  must  start. 
Your  half  begins.  I  want  you  —  take  it  all. 
I  never  could  use  fine  words! — Go  find  what 
you're  good  for." 

Miles  nodded,  but  could  not  speak.  Shame 
and  wonder  contended  in  him,  at  thought 
of  his  own  blindness  all  these  years:  he  had 
considered  his  grandfather  as  a  grim,  silent 
man,  preoccupied  with  gloomy  fear  of  the 
future.  Revelation  had  come:  the  spent  run- 
ner now  resolutely  passed  on  the  torch,  and 
Miles  trembled  at  his  unworthiness  to  re- 
ceive it  from  such  hands. 

"One  thing  more,"  continued  the  old 
man,  stirring  uneasily.   "  What  was  this  Ella 


THE    COUNCIL 

said,  t'other  day,  about  sweethearts,  or  some 
nonsense?    Did  she  mean —  Is  there — " 

"I  —  I  don't  know,"  stammered  Miles. 
The  challenge  had  struck  him  hot  and  cold. 
The  more  sincerely  he  faced  it,  the  more 
this  question  deepened  into  a  yawning  pit 
of  subtleties.    "Honestly —  I  don't  know." 

"Don't  know .?"  His  grandfather  eyed  him 
almost  angrily.  "What  sort  of  answer  is 
that.?  See  here,  I  can't  have —  At  your  age 
—  You  must  promise  me  —  " 

A  violent  cough  seized  him,  and  left  him 
shaken  and  breathless.  For  a  long  time  he 
rested,  as  if  asleep.  And  when  at  last  he 
spoke  again,  a  smile  of  serene  humor,  of 
high  forbearance  and  security,  lighted  the 
sunken  eyes. 

"You  promise  nothing,  boy.  If  I  had 
promised    my    father  —  I  'm    an    old    fool. 

123 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

We've  agreed  to  the  main  thing,  already. 
It's  all  right.  You're  a  man.  Give  me  the 
—  that  nasty  dose,  there." 

He  sank  back,  as  though  he  had  reserved 
all  his  forces  for  their  interview,  and  now 
lay  exhausted.  The  ticking  of  a  clock,  the 
flutter  of  the  fire,  accompanied  that  labored 
breathing  through  slow  and  sorrowful  hours. 
The  watcher  must  have  dozed;  for  of  a  sud- 
den, the  shadows  of  the  hackmatack  boughs 
quivered  easterly  along  the  floor.  The  after- 
noon was  already  closing.  Ella  sat,  with 
folded  hands,  by  the  hearth. 

Time  again  dragged  by,  till  the  sleeper 
moved.  Without  seeming  to  wake,  he  whis- 
pered :  — 

"I  can't  remember.    Bring  me  the  book." 

A  Bible  lay  on  the  table;  but  as  though 
he  heard  Miles  lift  it,  he  shook  his  head. 

124 


THE    COUNCIL 

"I've  read  that.  I  know  it.  The  other  — 
below  —  the  black  book." 

Ella  nodded,  stole  from  the  room,  and  re- 
turned with  the  old  man's  volume  of  the 
poets. 

"How  does  it  go?  Read  to  me,  Miles. 
'Even  so  is  time'  —  You  know  it." 

Miles  found  the  page,  and  with  an  unsteady 
voice  obeyed. 

"'Even  such  is  time,  that  takes  in  trust 
Our  youth,  our  joys,  our  all  we  have. 
And  pays  us  but  with  earth  and  dust; 
Who,  in  the  dark  and  silent  grave. 
When  we  have  wandered  all  our  ways, 
Shuts  up  the  story  of  our  days. 
But  —  '" 

The  old  man  stopped  him,  with  a  sign 
of  content,  and  took  up  the  lines,  whis- 
pering :  — 

"  *  But  from  this  earth,  this  grave,  this  dust, 
My  God  shall  raise  me  up,  I  trust!  *  '* 

125 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

He  lay  very  still;  but  when,  after  a  time, 
Ella  would  have  offered  him  something  in  a 
glass,  he  put  her  hand  feebly  aside.  Miles 
could  not  hear  their  words,  except,  "If 
every  one  was  faithful  as  you — "  and  the 
woman's  reply,  "I'll  never  leave  him  till 
he  sends  me  away."  She  rose,  and,  crossing 
to  the  window,  where  a  row  of  geraniums 
glowed  in  the  sunset,  stood  picking  blindly 
at  the  dead  leaves. 

He  continued  to  speak,  but  neither  audi- 
bly nor  with  the  living.  From  time  to  time 
they  caught  the  name  of  George,  Godfrey, 
or  Christopher.  His  eyes  remained  closed; 
but  his  face  turned  slightly,  now  and  then, 
with  the  air  of  one  who  clearly  saw  and 
heard  the  persons  in  a  ghostly  conference. 
As  day  drooped  into  night,  the  seen  fused 
with  the  unseen.    And  it  was  in  a  mystical 

126 


THE    COUNCIL 

twilight  that  he  turned  toward  Miles,  at  last, 
with  a  look  of  grave  relief,  which  told  that 
the  council  had  reached  some  fortunate  con- 
clusion. The  lips  barely  moved,  and  indeed 
the  eyes  made  their  eflfort  needless. 

"I'm  satisfied,  my  boy." 

The  only  praise  he  had  ever  given,  it  was 
beyond  all  value. 

The  woman  lighted  a  lamp  behind  the 
shawl;  then  stood  beside  Miles,  waiting. 
Nothing  moved  in  the  room,  except  twin 
shadows  of  the  andirons  fluttering  on  the 
wall,  alert  and  capricious  as  a  pair  of  fencers. 
In  the  passage  Tony  the  sailor  had  paused 
silently,  like  a  man  drawn  by  strange  impulse 
to  the  edge  of  a  forbidden  circle. 

Something  approached,  arrived,  and  cul- 
minated. The  counterpane  stirred.  It  was 
as  though  a  broad  and  soothing  wave  had 

127 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

lifted  the  prostrate  figure  slightly,  and  passed, 
bearing  away  the  spirit  in  one  gentle,  mighty 
undulation. 

The  servant  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"He  was  a  good  man,"  she  whispered. 
'It's  over  now.  He  was  a  good  man." 

Within  two  days  Richard  Bissant  lay  be- 
side his  brother,  the  Admiral,  close  beneath 
a  yellow  birch  that  rose  in  the  highest  field,  a 
living  monument,  a  landmark  to  ships  below 
in  the  river.  He  had  taught  Miles  to  believe 
that  the  natural  body  is  raised  a  spiritual 
body,  and  that  this  corruptible  must  put 
on  incorruption.  And  though  the  grave, 
cut  in  frozen  earth,  and  ringed  about  with 
shapeless  banks  of  snow,  seemed  in  those 
bleak  surroundings  to  gain  more  than  a 
brief   victory,  yet  the   survivor,  feeling  his 

128 


THE    COUNCIL 

sorrow  as  a  man,  could  still  dispute  it  like 
a  man. 

One  thing,  in  this  time  of  perplexity,  ap- 
peared beyond  mistake;  and  that  was  Tony's 
unwonted  and  unflagging  kindness.  Silent 
in  his  moccasins,  like  a  sea-gaited  Indian, 
he  had  come  and  gone  about  the  house, 
bringing  armfuls  of  firewood,  helping  Ella, 
tending  the  tower  lamps.  It  was  he  who  ran 
all  errands  to  Kilmarnock,  and  shoveled 
the  broad  path  from  their  door  to  the  birch 
tree  on  the  hill.  Not  only  his  activity,  but 
his  silence  and  retirement,  had  shown  a 
right  spirit,  touched  honestly.  Miles,  recall- 
ing his  former  thoughts,  saw  them  as  unjust. 
After  all,  the  sailor,  like  the  man  who  was 
now  become  a  memory,  had  only  kept  his 
own  counsel.  "And  I  blamed  him  for  that!" 
thought  Miles,  with  remorse. 

129 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

And  yet  Tony's  presence  was  none  the  less 
disquieting.  It  had  vexed  and  humbled, 
however  needlessly,  the  closing  days  of  a 
most  honorable  life;  and  Miles,  though 
wishing  to  keep  the  man's  friendship,  re- 
belled at  thought  of  using  him  for  profit. 
Right  or  wrong,  it  was  very  strongly  in  his 
mind  that  Tony  must  either  leave  or  come 
to  an  explanation;  for  since  that  conference 
in  the  sick-room,  the  sailor's  standing,  the 
whole  arrangement,  became  more  and  more 
false  and  intolerable. 

Other  questions  cropped  up  in  their  altered 
household,  —  questions  of  the  past  and  the 
future,  jostling  in  a  mind  still  dazed.  And  it 
was  these  which,  two  nights  after  the  burial 
on  the  hill,  kept  the  young  man  restless.  He 
lay  revolving  vague  plans,  resolutions,  re- 
grets, till  at  last,  foregoing  all  hope  of  sleep, 

130 


THE    COUNCIL 

he  rose,  dressed  in  the  dark,  and  stole  down- 
stairs to  the  Httle  front  room  which  had  been 
his  grandfather's  "Hbrary."  A  puddle  of 
ruby  coals  still  glowed  in  the  fireplace;  but 
before  sitting  down  by  these,  he  turned 
toward  the  gray  square  of  the  windows,  and 
stood  looking  out  through  a  wide,  cosmic 
starlight,  faint  and  deceptive,  but  dimly  in- 
tensified by  frosty  air  and  the  whiteness  of 
snow.  Without  speech  or  language,  the 
heart  of  the  darkness  strengthened  the  heart 
of  youth,  as  above  the  silent  valley  night  unto 
night  showed  knowledge. 

Stillness  without  grew  almost  palpable, 
through  stillness  within.  The  house  lay 
drowned  in  sleep.  But  suddenly  Miles  heard 
a  thin,  brushing  sound  upon  the  landing 
above,  the  squeak  of  a  board,  and  the  dry 
rasp  of  a  hand  sliding  down  the  banister-rail. 

131 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

Some  one  descended  with  extreme  caution, 
and  then,  below  the  row  of  pegs  in  the  dark 
corridor,  struggled  into  a  jacket,  with  sub- 
dued fluttering  of  heavy  cloth.  The  front 
door  slowly  creaked,  and,  letting  chill  air 
flood  the  room,  as  slowly  creaked  again. 

It  lacked  two  hours  before  time  for  in- 
spection; and  besides,  whoever  went  to  the 
towers  would  carry  a  lantern.  Miles  watched. 
A  dark,  thick-set  blur  moved  out  under  the 
starlight  and  disappeared  between  the  two 
hackmatack  pillars.  Tony  the  sailor  was  up 
and  about  his  affairs. 

Angry  and  determined.  Miles  crept  along 
the  passage,  drew  on  his  reefer  as  silently  as 
the  other  had  done,  and  slipped  outdoors 
into  the  freezing  darkness. 


CHAPTER  VII 


habakkuk's  light 


Stars,  frost,  and  glimmer  of  snow  blended 
into  a  bluish,  dim  suffusion,  a  hyperborean 
obscurity  that  was  neither  light  nor  dark- 
ness. The  figure  ahead  showed  as  a  blotch 
of  denser  twilight,  dissolving,  rather  than 
moving,  down  the  slope.  Miles  prowled 
after,  straining  his  eyes  to  detect  in  what 
quarter  of  the  black  undergrowth  it  was  ab- 
sorbed and  blotted. 

No  light,  no  sound,  could  either  guide  or 
betray  him.  His  impulse  had  been  to  stride 
along,  to  overtake  and  question  the  sailor;  but 
so,  reflection  told  him,  he  might  destroy  his 
only  chance  to  learn  the  truth.  He  waded  on- 

133 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

ward,  accordingly,  with  great  care;  and  slip- 
ping through  fir  branches,  gained  free  footing 
in  the  beaten  path.  No  wind  stirred;  and 
though  faint  aerial  changes  drew  widely  over 
the  valley,  not  a  bristle  whispered  among  all 
the  drooping,  padded  layers  of  black  and 
white.  With  the  old  expectancy  he  came  to 
the  buried  quarter-deck.  No  one  appeared. 

He  crossed,  and  was  passing  into  the  ever- 
green gap  beyond,  when  he  ran  solidly 
against  some  person  emerging.  With  an 
angry  start  he  grappled  the  stranger  by  both 
arms.  For  an  instant  they  wrestled  silently. 
Wrapped  in  a  long  rough  ulster  or  cloak,  his 
opponent  not  only  struggled  at  a  disadvan- 
tage, but  exerted  neither  weight  nor  force. 
Miles  felt  a  lithe  body  strain  furiously  to 
escape,  and  then,  after  a  single  spasm  of 
resistance,  unexpectedly  surrender.     At  the 

134 


HABAKKUK'S    LIGHT 

same  moment,  as  they  lurched  back  against 
the  yielding  support  of  young  boughs,  in  a 
downfall  of  clotted  snow,  he  felt  his  cheek 
swept  at  once  sharply  by  fir  needles  and 
softly  by  disordered  hair.  In  shifting  holds, 
his  bare  hand  closed  tight  round  a  bare 
wrist,  surprisingly  frail  and  warm. 

"Oh,  you're  hurting  me!"  complained 
the  captive  in  a  fierce  whisper.   "Let  go!" 

Whether  at  the  voice,  the  contact,  or  the 
recognition,  a  quick  thrill  ran  through  his 
fore-arm,  like  the  instant  passage  of  a  mys- 
terious current. 

"It's  you!"  Both  spoke  at  once,  with  the 
same  manner,  the  same  thought. 

Looking  for  Tony,  he  had  found  his  com- 
panion of  the  fog.  This  surpassing  wonder 
overwhelmed  him.  Yet  in  that  flaming  in- 
stant, in  the  very  rout  of  reason.  Miles  — 
135 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

where  a  wise  man  or  a  fool  might  have  in- 
ferred obviously  and  ignobly  —  saw  the  facts 
with  the  ease  of  inspiration. 

"We're  out  on  the  same  errand,"  he 
whispered.  "You're  looking  for  your  fa- 
ther?" 

"How  did  —  I  can't  tell  you!"  she  panted. 
"Let  me  go!   Please,  let  go!" 

"Oh,  I  forgot."  He  released  her,  suddenly 
confused  and  awkward.  "  I  did  n't  mean  — 
I  —  I'm  sorry." 

She  started  as  if  to  pass,  then  stopped. 

"What  did  you  want  him  for?"  she  asked, 
with  a  strange  mingling  of  timidity  and  re- 
proach. "Why  are  you  after  him  ?" 

"I'm  not,"  said  Miles.  "It's  your  friend 
Florio  — " 

"My  friend!"  she  whispered  scornfully. 
"Then  they  are  together!" 

136 


HABAKKUK'S   LIGHT 

Through  his  excitement  Miles  had  become 
aware  that  the  sound  of  oars  drew  toward 
them  down  river,  close  to  shore.  The  row- 
ing stopped,  just  below;  thin  ice  crackled, 
under  the  feet  of  some  one  tramping  down 
toward  the  water;  and  the  surly  voice  of 
Abram  called  from  the  stream,  — 

"That  you,  cap'n?" 

From  the  shore  Tony  answered  impatiently : 

"Rather  —  with  both  feet  in  the  mud. 
Stir  your  stumps,  don't  keep  me  freezing 
here!" 

"Gome's  fast  as  I  could,"  growled  the 
other.  "Need  n't  think  you  —  put  on  airs!" 

By  tacit  alliance,  Miles  and  the  girl  found 
themselves  leaning  on  the  platform  rail,  peer- 
ing together  into  the  darkness.  All  below 
was  invisible,  but  they  heard  the  boat  come 
grating  to  land,  the  mutter  of  the  voices,  and 

137 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

the   hollow,   jerky    beat   of   oars    departing 
quickly,  straight  out  from  shore. 

"Come  on,"  whispered  Miles.  "Come 
along.   Let's  follow  and  see!" 

The  whim  was  contagious  and  inspiring. 
Together  they  scrambled  down  the  snow- 
bank, joining  hands  for  the  steep  slide.  At 
the  bottom  Tony's  boat  loomed  gray  before 
them,  buried  like  a  knoll.  The  tarpaulin, 
loaded  with  snow,  clung  heavy  and  obstinate ; 
but  Miles  ripped  it  off  at  last,  and  slid  the 
boat  gently  from  the  chocks. 

"Dragging  it  will  sound  like  the  mischief," 
he  said.  "  Could  you  manage  the  bow  .^" 

Luckily  the  boat  was  light,  and  as  they 
staggered  down  the  beach,  winding  among 
the  black  open  patches  and  avoiding  the 
ice,  he  felt,  with  a  singular  pride,  that  the 
girl  held  up  her  end  gamely. 

138 


HABAKKUK'S    LIGHT 

He  had  allowed  the  two  men  a  long  start, 
and  still  listened,  till  their  oars  sounded 
feebly  across  the  water. 

"Ready,"  he  said  at  last. 

She  brushed  past  him  into  the  stern.  He 
shoved  off,  muffled  the  rowlocks  in  his 
woolen  scarf  and  a  boat-mop  of  frozen  jute, 
and  rowed  slowly  out,  with  only  a  faint  creak- 
ing, and  the  steady  trickle  from  the  blades. 
Astern,  as  the  shore  retreated,  the  twin  lights 
drew  imperceptibly  toward  each  other.  Their 
glow  left  the  water  in  darkness,  and,  dwin- 
dling, became  fixed,  lustrous  points,  as  of  two 
erring  planets  sunken  low,  on  the  wrong 
side  of  the  horizon.  Out  here  the  river  lay 
black  under  the  starlight,  which,  no  longer 
reflected  by  the  snow,  seemed  to  have  raised 
and  withdrawn  aloft.  Far  ahead  the  oars 
were  beating  regular  as  a  pulse,  —  a  dull 

139 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

throbbing  that  alone  disturbed  the  night, 
except  when  thin  peals  of  untimely  cock- 
crow sounded,  faint  as  muted  horns,  from 
indoors,  across  wide  distances. 

"Don't  they  seem  strange?"  said  the  girl, 
half  to  herself.  "Like  something  —  like  a 
ghost  story." 

"Yes  —  or  the  legend,"  answered  Miles. 
"And  it  is  drawing  on  to  Christmas 
time." 

A  short  silence  followed,  before  she  asked : 

"What  legend.?" 

"Oh  —  why,  you  know  it."  He  slowly 
recalled  the  lines,  prompted  by  the  pale 
mystery  of  stars  overhead,  the  swerving 
profundity  of  the  tide  beneath,  but  more 
than  all  by  the  whispering,  muffled  figure 
on  the  thwart,  obscure  as  a  shape  of 
sorcery. 

140 


HABAKKUK'S   LIGHT 

"*Some  say  that  ever  'gainst  that  season  comes 
Wherein  our  Saviour's  birth  is  celebrated. 
This  bird  of  dawning  singeth  all  night  long. 
And  then  — '  " 

The  dripping  of  the  oars  marked  the 
pauses,  crisply  and  rhythmically. 

"*And  then,  they  say,  no  spirit  can  walk  abroad; 
The  nights  are  wholesome;  then  no  planets  strike. 
No  fairy  takes,  nor  witch  hath  power  to  charm. 
So  hallowed  and  so  gracious  is  the  time." 

He  rowed  on  steadily. 

"Oh,  I  remember  where,"  she  said,  after 
a  time.  "They  read  that  to  us  in  school  one 
winter.  It's  very  beautiful.  But  I  can't 
remember  things  like  you.  I  wish  —  "  She 
laughed  somewhat  bitterly.  "  We  don't  have 
books  in  our  house  —  " 

Though  strange,  their  situation  seemed 
profoundly  simple,  —  a  sudden,  unforeseen, 
yet  natural  welding  of  present  to  past  ad- 

141 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

venture.  They  were  afloat  together,  in  the 
same  wide  concealment,  almost  as  though 
the  same  obscurity,  without  interval,  had 
but  changed  from  white  to  black.  So 
welcome  was  this  conjoining  magic  that, 
for  the  moment,  they  could  forget  its 
cause. 

Suddenly,  however,  the  sound  which  they 
followed  came  to  an  end. 

"They  heard  us,"  whispered  the  girl. 

Miles,  with  a  like  thought,  stopped  rowing. 
Still,  their  voices  had  been  quiet  as  their 
oars.  Surely  the  two  men  had  not  —  yet  why 
should  they  drift  in  mid-stream  ?  He  pon- 
dered, listening;  and  then  first  came  the 
memory  of  Habakkuk's  light,  seen  from  the 
high  woods. 

"The  island.  They're  landing."  Even  as 
he  whispered  they  heard,  well  off  their  port 

142 


HABAKKUK'S   LIGHT 

bow,  the    crash    of    splintering    beach    ice. 
"The  lower  end." 

He  swung  the  boat's  nose  up  river,  and, 
yielding  to  the  flood-tide,  made  for  the  head 
of  the  island.  Gradually  the  loom  of  shore 
spread  round  and  above  them,  deepening 
the  night.  As  if  a  shadow  had  solidified,  the 
unseen  beach  grated  softly  beneath  their 
bow. 

"Sand!"  said  Miles.  "A  piece  of  luck." 
With  one  hand  on  his  shoulder,  she  vaulted 
lightly  ashore.  They  lifted  the  boat  beyond 
reach  of  tide,  climbed  a  shelving  slant  that 
rose  to  the  foot  of  the  main  ledge,  and  groped 
along  an  impending  granite  wall,  which  the 
river  had  deeply  gnawed  and  under-cut,  as 
cattle  ravage  a  haystack.  A  cleft,  however, 
at  last  gave  access;  and  grasping  each  other 
timorously,  struggling  together,  they  gained 

143 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

the  upper  level.  Here  the  north  wind  had 
swept  the  beak  of  the  island  clear ;  for  scrubby 
bushes  —  lambkill,  perhaps,  or  sweet-fern, 
or  blueberry  —  parted  rustling  underfoot, 
with  the  frailest  odor  of  dried  herbs.  Then 
evergreens  compassed  all  about,  breast-high, 
in  snow  and  darkness. 

They  now  waded  so  heavily  in  drifts, 
through  a  grove  so  deeply  smothered,  that 
their  venture  began  to  appear  both  difficult 
and  harebrained.  Its  impulse  was  rapidly 
cooling,  when  a  sudden  light  swung  through 
the  firs  ahead,  and  turned  the  thicket 
into  a  reel  of  ponderous  shadow^s,  diz- 
zily whirling  upward.  This  motion  ceased. 
The  snow-fronds  gleamed  in  swollen,  billowy 
outlines. 

Among  these  the  two  companions  peered. 
They  had  struck  through  the  annular  grove 

144 


HABAKKUK'S   LIGHT 

of  the  island,  and  were  looking  into  the  open 
centre.  A  white  drift,  crested  like  a  wave, 
shone  behind  a  lantern  set  upon  bare  ground. 
Tugging  sounds  and  a  click  of  metal  rose 
close  at  hand,  behind  a  screen  of  boughs.  A 
man  grunted  angrily. 

"There,  by  Godfrey!  Told  ye  so!  I  bust 
the  lock!" 

"What  odds?"  replied  the  cheerful  voice 
of  Tony.  "Don't  need  it.  Rip  it  off!" 

"Do  your  own  rippin'!  My  fingers  ain't 
nobody's  monkey-wrench." 

"No,  they'd  rather  pick  pockets.  Stand 
clear,  then."  Something  snapped.  "There, 
my  skulker!  Almost  took  muscle,  did  n't  it .?" 

"Don't  you  call  me  no  names!"  began 
Abram  loudly. 

"Shut  your  head!"  cried  the  sailor  im- 
periously. "  By  George,  you  make  a  man  sick 

145 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

with  al]  your  nasty  blowing.  Fill  your  sack, 
and  shut  up!" 

Silence  followed,  broken  by  light  thuds  in 
quick  succession.  A  shadow  heaved  athwart 
the  glow,  in  a  thin  white  cloud  of  steaming 
breath.  It  was  Tony,  with  some  shapeless 
burden  in  his  arms. 

"Come  along,"  he  said. 

A  second  shadow  rose,  and  stooped  toward 
the  lantern,  grumbling. 

"I  don't  tromp  down  them  rocks  no  more 
'thout  a  light." 

"Let  it  stay! "  roared  Tony.  "How  many 
times  must  I  tell  you  ?  We  can't  go  showing 
lights  on  that  beach.  Drop  it!  You  can  see 
to  cross  the  clearing,  and  that's  enough. 
Next  time,  by  thunder,  you'll  want  me  to 
carry  you!  " 

They  moved  off,  growling,  round  the 
146 


HABAKKUK'S    LIGHT 

twisted  spur  of  the  snow-bank.  The  night 
swallowed  them. 

Miles  gave  ample  time,  before  venturing 
further;  then  floundered  on  through  gleaming 
undergrowth.  The  verge,  however,  rose  im- 
passable. A  gigantic  drift  flung  one  smooth, 
graceful  whirl  round  the  little  hollow,  or 
bowl,  in  which  the  lantern  shone.  To  break 
through  would  leave  a  tumbling  track  of 
ruin.  The  ring  stood  therefore  as  good  as 
enchanted:  he  could  only  lean  forward  and 
look. 

Close  below  lay  scattered  boughs  of  spruce 
or  fir;  and  among  these,  half  uncovered,  a 
square  chest  yawned  enormous,  with  lid 
thrown  back.  Full  or  empty,  it  showed 
nothing  inside  but  darkness. 

The  return  of  angry  voices  sent  him  dodg- 
ing back  among  the  trees.    In  the  interval 

147 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

the  quarrel  had  flamed  higher,  for  at  the  gap 
in  the  snow  Tony  wheeled  with  a  savage 
flourish. 

"Bother?"  he  scoffed.  "You're  the  only 
bother  I  see!" 

They  swung  nearer,  and  even  by  the  smoky 
lantern,  their  faces  shone  red  and  threatening. 

"And  damned  if  I'll  have  it,  either!"  added 
Florio. 

"Oh,  no,  'tain't  no  bother,"  sneered  his 
follower.  "Not  a  mite!  Reg'lar  summer 
weather,  ain't  it,  to  be  rowin'  round  in  ?  No 
bother  to  git  froze,  or  break  your  laigs  again* 
rocks  in  the  dark,  or  handle  all  that  pesky 
stuff  twice  over!  Usin'  this  island  was  a  fool 
idee,  from  the  start.  No  bother!  When  ye 
could  kerry  it  all  to  oncet,  single  lo'ds,  slap 
over  to  the  furder  shore!" 

"Slap  over!"  mocked  the  sailor.  "You 
148 


HABAKKUK'S   LIGHT 

know,  and  none  better,  it's  not  every  night 
Graves  can  take  it  off  our  hands.  Mean- 
time, what  ?  Stow  it  in  our  pockets  ?  or  use 
what  sense  God  gives  geese!" 

"  Keep  it  on  our  own  side,"  grunted  Abram, 
"till  Graves  gits  ready." 

"You're  a  wonder!"  The  sailor  dashed 
his  empty  sack  on  the  ground  passionately. 
"A  fair  wonder!  I  was  in  luck  when  I  got 
you !  Our  own  side !  Where  ?  Under  the  bed 
or  up  the  chimney?  Between  that  girl  at 
your  house  and  young  Bissant  at  mine,  how 
long  would  it  stay  hid  ?  What's  that  ?  Out- 
doors ?  Good  Lord!  did  it  ever  cross  your 
mind  that  snow  leaves  tracks  ?  Look  behind 
you,  and  see  the  path  we've  beaten!  But  no 
one  comes  out  here;    and  that's  why,  idiot!" 

"Old  man  Bissant  would  'a'  took  it  in," 
retorted  the  mutineer.    "Jest  give  him  some 

149 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

money,  let  him  into  cahoots,  and  he'd  V 
kep'  still." 

The  two  men  faced  each  other  closely, 
scowling  above  the  light.  Raging  and  volu- 
ble, Tony  had  spoken  with  more  and  more 
odd  turns  of  voice  and  gesture,  as  though 
anger  stirred  his  blood  to  a  southern  heat. 
Now  he  stepped  forward  quickly,  and,  half 
crouching,  shook  his  raised  fingers  at  arm's 
length,  with  all  the  intensity  of  a  Latin. 

"Fm,  via!''  he  cried.  "You  speak  so  of 
the  dead!  You  —  you  scut!  Never  in  a  thou- 
sand years  you  would  understand  such  a 
man!  Say  so  again,  and  I  knock  ofiF  your 
head!" 

The  Yankee  recoiled,  but  spat  out  intol- 
erable filth. 

"Ye  don't  bully  me!"  he  snarled.  "You 
big-bugs  is  no  better 'n  the  rest  of  us  —  him 

150 


HABAKKUK'S    LIGHT 

nor  you!    All  knows  he  was  a  skinflint,  an 
old  —  " 

Both  figures  suddenly  reeled  past  the 
lantern,  a  tangled  silhouette,  which  broke 
apart  at  the  hard,  quick  slap  of  an  open  palm. 
Abram  fell  staggering,  but  sprang  back  as 
on  the  rebound.  Something  flashed  in  his 
hand.  The  two  shapes  joined  again,  strug- 
gling, with  grunts  and  curses.  In  the  same 
instant  Miles  felt  himself  shoved  aside,  and 
recovered  barely  in  time  to  seize  his  compan- 
ion's cloak  and  thrust  her  back.  She  would 
have  rushed  in  straightway.  He  plunged 
forward  himself,  but  as  quickly  halted. 

The  smaller  of  the  combatants  had  shot 
clear  of  the  ground,  and  landed  with  a  hol- 
low shock  against  the  chest. 

"Knives,  would  you.?"  panted  the  sailor. 
"You  came  to  the  right  shop!" 
151 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

He  stooped,  placed  his  foot  on  the  blade, 
which  he  snapped  in  one  powerful  wrench; 
then  rising,  tossed  the  haft  away,  and  spoke 
as  cool  and  scornful  as  any  Saxon, 

"Next  time  try  steel,  not  a  piece  of  tin." 
His  breath  streamed  white  before  him,  as 
he  added,  in  a  voice  of  meditation,  "I 
don't  see  yet  what  stopped  me  driving  it 
into  you.  You've  that  girl  to  look  out  for. 
Huh!  Poor  thing!  But  to  tell  the  truth,  I 
never  thought  of  that.  Just  luck,  I  suppose. 
Thank  your  stars,  it's  only  your  nose  that's 
bleeding." 

The  fallen  man,  concealed  below  the  bank, 
whimpered  and  snuffled. 

"Come,  come,  brace  up,"  advised  his 
master.  "You're  well  out  of  a  scrape, 
Abe.  I  did  n't  see  you  were  fighting 
drunk." 

152 


HABAKKUK'S   LIGHT 

He  bent  again,  this  time  as  if  to  ransack 
the  chest. 

"I'll  carry  what's  left,  and  do  the  rowing. 
You  can  sit  still,  and  think  it  over." 

A  growl  was  the  only  answer. 

"Don't  bear  malice,"  Tony  protested 
lightly.  "Can't  afford  that.  Better  stay  by 
me.  Where  else  would  the  money  come  from  ? 
That's  the  talk,  up  and  doing!  You're  all 
right.  Now,  then,  dowse  your  lantern,  and 
carry  on." 

Darkness  fell.  The  dry  crunch  of  mocca- 
sins on  frosty  snow  passed  away  into  silence. 

Miles,  aching  and  benumbed,  still  waited 
to  hear  their  oars,  then  ploughed  through 
into  the  deserted  clearing.  Beside  him 
stooped  the  girl,  as  they  tossed  aside  the 
loose  boughs  from  the  cache.  When  at  last 
their  mittens  slid  over  a  glossy  surface,  he 

153 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

struck  a  match.  The  tiny  flare  revealed  a 
broad  lid  of  polished  yellow  wood,  the  cor- 
ners capped  with  brass,  and  a  curious,  for- 
eign padlock  hanging  broken  on  the  staple. 
He  saw  all  this,  and  yet,  even  while  he  threw 
open  the  chest,  saw  more  keenly  the  face 
above  his  shoulder,  —  the  pure  oval  of  her 
cheeks,  her  large  eyes  shining  from  the  black 
shelter  of  a  hood. 

The  first  match  went  out.  His  second  and 
last  lighted  the  whole  depth  of  the  chest,  and 
showed  it  empty.  A  faint,  persuasive  odor 
lingered  within,  exotic,  alien  to  the  winter 
air,  new  to  their  experience. 

"What  is  it.^"  she  whispered. 

He  shook  his  head,  and  dropped  the  burn- 
ing splinter. 

"But  what  are  they  doing?" 

"I'm  not  sure,"  he  answered  slowly. 
154 


HABAKKUK'S    LIGHT 

"Nothing  that  need  worry  you.  Some  secret. 
Come.  They're  going  clear  across  the  river. 
We  can  be  home  before  them." 

In  starlight  they  heaped  the  boughs  once 
more,  waded  through  the  belt  of  firs,  and 
clambered  down,  hand  in  hand,  toward  the 
beach.  All  the  way  to  their  own  shore,  and 
all  along  the  evergreen  path  from  the  quarter- 
deck to  Al ward's,  a  strange  silence  held  them 
apart.  With  few  words  or  none,  they  reached 
her  door;  only  on  the  dark  threshold  she 
turned  to  speak,  and  then,  as  it  seemed,  re- 
sentfully. 

"It  isn't  like  you,"  she  said;  and  before 
he  could  frame  a  question,  "Why,  not  to 
tell  me  what  you  really  think.  That  was 
what  I  liked  about  you." 

He  gave  thought  to  his  reply :  — 

"How  can  I  tell  you  till  I'm  certain? 
155 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

That  would  n't  be  fair  —  to  any  of  us.  It's 
nothing  serious." 

"If  you  beheve  that  — "  Her  manner 
changed.  "I  suppose  you're  right.  But  when 
you're  certain,  will  you  ?" 

"Of  course,"  he  promised.  "The  first 
minute  I'm  sure." 

She  made  an  impulsive  movement.  The 
darkness  had  thinned  insensibly,  yet  enough 
to  show  her  hand  outstretched.  He  clasped 
it,  both  for  good-by  and  for  the  compact. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE   OTHER   CAMP 

That  compact,  as  Miles  stood  waiting  be- 
fore the  library  fire,  seemed  reward  enough, 
not  only  for  their  lesser  troubles  of  last  night, 
but  for  whatever  might  come,  of  greater. 
The  words,  the  clasp  of  hands,  the  whole 
twilight  scene,  still  occupied  his  thoughts  so 
busily  that  when  the  latch  clicked  and  Tony 
entered,  he  had  formed  no  plan  for  the  ex- 
pected interview. 

"Morning,"  called  the  sailor.  Fresh  and 
hearty  as  though  he  had  slept  all  night,  he 
wore  somehow  a  thoughtful  aspect;  and  his 
first  movement  was  toward  the  window, 
where  he  paused  to  study  the  chessmen. 
157 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

They  stood  as  Richard  Bissant  had  left  them, 
but  now,  touched  by  winter  sunshine,  formed 
a  little  plot  of  brightness,  thick-set,  like  white 
and  scarlet  hyacinths. 

"He'd  have  won  that  time."  Tony  shook 
his  head,  musing.  "  Yes,  if  —  A  losing  game 
we  play,  though,  in  this  world,  isn't  it.?" 
Again  he  shook  his  head,  adding  inconse- 
quently,  "One  point.  Miles:  be  happy  while 
you're  young." 

His  left  side  brushed  a  corner  of  the  book- 
shelf. He  winced,  and  nursed  his  arm,  which 
moved  clumsily. 

"Lame  there,"  he  explained,  without  turn- 
ing. "I  stumbled  last  night,  and  hit  her  a 
clip." 

"On  our  friend's  knife?"  suggested  Miles. 

Tony  whipped  about  with  a  droll  face  of 
consternation. 

158 


THE    OTHER    CAMP 

"That  fool  been  blabbing  already?"  he 
cried.   "He  can't  be  out  of  bed  yet!" 

Miles  laughed. 

"Come,  Tony,"  he  said  quietly.  "We 
must  have  a  talk.  We  should  have  had,  long 
before." 

"You  beat  me!"  Although  Tony  chuckled 
and  flung  himself  into  the  armchair  care- 
lessly, the  light  in  his  large  gray  eyes  twin- 
kled hard  and  wary.  "I'm  sharp  in  a  way, 
but  you  big,  long,  quiet  chaps  —  Humph! 
What  is  it?    Carry  on!" 

Miles  came  readily  to  the  point. 

"I  was  on  the  island  last  night,"  he  began, 
"saw  all  your  squabble  there,  and  looked 
into  your  chest  afterward.  So  I'll  own  up 
to  eavesdropping,  if  you  will  to  smuggling." 

The  sailor  gave  a  short  laugh,  either  scorn- 
ful or  temporizing. 

159 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

"What?"  he  asked,  as  though  rather 
amused  than  oflFended.    "SmuggHng  what?" 

"It  doesn't  matter,"  answered  Miles. 
"That's  your  affair.  I  don't  know,  and  don't 
want  to.  If  it's  to  go  on — "  He  faltered, 
but  spoke  warmly,  remembering  the  quarrel 
and  Tony's  outburst  of  generous  anger. 
"One  thing  certain.  If  it's  to  go  on  —  I 
like  you  better  than  ever,  Tony,  but  —  you 
can't  keep  this  house  for  headquarters." 

In  high  good  humor,  Tony  rapped  out  an 
oath  and  hammered  the  arm  of  his  chair. 

"You're  the  sort,"  he  laughed,  his  teeth 
flashing  white,  his  eyes  brimming  with  jovial 
admiration.  "Might  have  known  how  you'd 
take  it.  By  the  Lord,  there's  no  tattle-tale 
blood  in  you!  You'll  do,  buster!  Chuck  me 
out,  but  stay  friends.  That  the  idea?  Right 
you  are!  And  devilish  sorry  I'll  be  to  go." 

160 


THE    OTHER    CAMP 

By  one  of  his  sudden  changes,  his  face, 
without  darkening,  fell  entirely  serious. 

"Do  you  know,  I  never  saw  before  — " 
He  pointed  his  pipe-stem  up  at  the  sombre 
canvas  above  the  mantel.  "The  old  Com- 
mander there  —  he  looks  ready  to  reef, 
steer,  crack  a  man's  head,  or  fire  a  broadside. 
Good  old  days,  those.  Never  saw  before  you 
looked  so  much  alike.  But  you  must  take 
more  on  the  mother's  side." 

"Maybe,"  replied  Miles,  wondering. 

Tony  studied  them  by  turns,  —  the  bold, 
severe  face  of  Hardy's  captain  in  the  picture, 
the  living  face  below. 

"Head  o'  the  family,"  he  said  at  last. 
"  Must  be  damned  odd.  All  my  life,  now  — 
If  I  had  n't  run  loose  —  Strict  ideas,  strict 
ideas!  Well,  what's  the  odds?  I  was  only 
going  to  say,  Miles,  you've  grown  up.   This 

161 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

last  week  —  that's  it:  you've  grown  up." 
He  rose,  with  an  air  of  dejection.  "You're 
right,  too,  old  chap.  I  understand.  I  must 
clear  out." 

"We'll  miss  you,  Tony,"  Miles  began. 

"Ye-es.^"  drawled  the  wanderer  absently. 
Forcing  a  doubtful  smile,  he  surveyed  the 
room.  "The  time  I've  laid  up  here —  Talk 
of  eye-openers !  What  a  rum  thing  it  is,  after 
all  —  a  home!" 

After  this  it  was  Miles  who  proposed  delay, 
and  Tony  who  would  not  listen. 

"No,"  he  repeated.  "You  struck  it,  first 
time.  Quit  the  game  or  move  out.  That's 
all  fair  and  square.  If  I  did  n't  stand  to  win 
or  lose  —  a  good  slice,  too  —  why,  I  'd  say 
quit.  No!  Finish!  Come  on,  old  boy,  help 
lug  my  box  downstairs!" 

And  with  the  box  in  the  stern  of  his  boat, 
162 


THE    OTHER    CAMP 

he  shoved  off  from  shore  that  very  afternoon. 
He  had  shipped  oars,  and  stretched  forward 
his  powerful  arms  for  the  first  stroke,  when 
suddenly  he  tossed  back  a  starthng  farewell. 

"I'll  come  see  you.  Miles,"  he  laughed. 
"Better  not  return  it,  though.  Abe  might 
not  understand;  and  the  drunken  blighter 
gives  me  trouble  enough  already." 

"What!"  called  Miles,  with  a  strange  mis- 
giving. "  You  mean  —  You  're  not  going  to 
Kilmarnock.^" 

"Kilmarnock!"  retorted  Florio.  "And 
have  that  fat  fool  Quinn  talk  me  inside  out  to 
the  whole  village  ?  No  fear  —  You  need  n't 
look  so  glum,  though.  Alward's  won't  be 
bad,  for  a  poor  exile.  Why,  there's  a  girl 
there  that  — "  He  grinned,  wagged  his  head 
with  a  most  rascally  whistle,  squared  his  great 
shoulders,  and  then,  favoring   the  wounded 

163 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

fore-arm,  rowed  out  to  swing  against  the 
current. 

"Cheer  up,  Commander!  "  he  shouted 
from  the  distance.  "Don't  forget,  we  stay 
friends!" 

Gloomily  enough,  however,  the  young  mas- 
ter of  the  shore  returned  alone  among  his 
hummocks,  and  climbed  his  glittering  winter 
field.  "I've  made  a  mess  of  it,"  he  thought 
miserably.  They  were  now  two  in  the  house 
who  had  been  four.  Yet  as  numbers  are  not 
presences,  the  life  within  had  abated,  not 
merely  by  half,  or  more  than  half,  but  by  an 
immeasurable  void.  Nor  did  the  greater  loss 
include  the  smaller;  for  in  like  disproportion 
Miles  missed  his  friend  the  adventurer,  at 
once,  and  afterward,  more  searchingly  than  he 
expected.  Smuggling  he  could  regard  with  all 
the  tolerance  of  a  borderer ;  so  that  as  vacant 

164 


THE    OTHER    CAMP 

days  followed  lengthening  toward  spring, 
he  came  sometimes  to  feel  that  he  had  ban- 
ished a  live  companion  for  a  dead  scruple. 
In  the  contrary  mood  —  and  this  was  no 
less  dismal  —  he  saw  plainly  what  a  danger- 
ous spirit  he  had  quartered  on  his  best  ally. 
His  promise  to  her,  meantime,  went  by  de- 
fault; till  on  a  snowbound  morning  of  more 
than  usual  loneliness,  he  set  aside  Tony's 
wish,  buckled  on  his  snowshoes,  rounded 
the  headland  to  Alward's,  and  knocked  at 
her  door.  Little  good,  however,  came  of  this 
expedition.  Abram,  scowling,  blocked  his 
entrance.  He  caught  a  glimpse  into  a  small 
room,  bare,  but  surprisingly  neat,  from  the 
unseen  corner  of  which  came  a  familiar  voice, 
saying,  with  the  comfortable  inflection  of  a 
man  thoroughly  at  home,  "  You  know,  Anna, 
a  girl  like  you  —  " 

165 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

The  very  voice  that  Tony  could  use  for 
making  friends;  and  now,  heard  only,  un- 
qualified by  look  or  gesture,  it  somehow  rang 
not  so  true.   Instantly,  however,  it  broke  off. 

"What's  up?"  called  Tony,  and  heaved 
through  the  doorway. 

"Oh,  it's  you!"  he  said  coldly.  "Hold  on, 
I'll  come  with  you." 

They  went  back  together  along  the  shore, 
plodding  side  by  side,  but  talking  at  random, 
with  constraint;  and  when  they  parted  at  the 
upper  tower,  it  was  on  vague  though  evident 
terms  of  division. 

"I'll  do  all  the  neighboring."  Tony  spoke 
sulkily  as  a  boy.  "  Thought  I  asked  you  not 
to  come?" 

After  this  ripple  of  incident,  the  winter  days 
once  more  fell  stagnant,  or  at  the  best,  moved 
on  sluggish  and  imperceptible.   Rain  came  at 

166 


THE    OTHER    CAMP 

last,  however,  and  thaws,  and  warm  sea  fogs 
devouring  the  snow  more  silently  than  either, 
and  more  swiftly.  Then  one  by  one,  like  spies 
of  Nature  stealing  into  the  land,  followed 
the  slow  and  potent  changes,  yearly  forgotten, 
yearly  striking  to  the  core  of  remembrance 
and  delight.  Hushing  sounds  of  water  rose 
from  the  gullies  on  still  mornings;  brown 
knolls,  from  day  to  day,  heaved  and  widened; 
the  ice  moved  out  to  sea,  a  white  and  broken 
flotilla,  while  the  river  cleared  again  to  shin- 
ing blue;  snow  forsook  the  hills,  forsook  the 
shore,  and  clung  raggedly  under  the  cedars  in 
thick,  worn  plates  of  ice.  Then,  too,  the  ear- 
liest fly  woke  buzzing  in  the  southern  window, 
and  at  noon  the  house,  with  door  swung  wide, 
stood  open  to  all  the  reviving  sounds  and 
nameless  stirrings  of  the  valley.  Now  and 
again,   a    stray  cow  gamboled    ridiculously 

167 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

down  the  field,  her  bell  clanking,  her  shoulder 
bearing  a  leathern  scar  where,  all  winter  long, 
she  had  chafed  her  stanchion.  And  over  the 
graves,  the  birch  grew  blurred  above  the  hill. 

In  all  this  time  the  outcast  made  no  at- 
tempt at  his  "neighboring;"  and  Miles,  with- 
out understanding,  accepted  their  alienation. 
Even  pride,  however,  could  not  keep  him  from 
being  lonely,  —  more  than  ever  lonely,  in 
these  mild  days  and  nights  of  spring.  He 
wandered  by  himself,  framing  and  rejecting 
plans,  no  less  discontented  with  the  present 
than  sorely  puzzled  by  the  future. 

One  afternoon,  when  he  had  taken  these 
perplexities  for  another  airing,  he  fell  as  it 
were  into  an  April  daydream  by  the  river, 
leaning  both  elbows  on  the  quarter-deck  rail. 
Along  the  verge,  and  scattered  among  the 
rotten    planks,    peeped    the    russet    tops    of 

168 


THE    OTHER    CAMP 

young  fiddle-head  ferns,  which  to  his  brood- 
ing eyes  seemed  almost  visibly  to  uncurl,  as 
a  kitten's  paws  uncurl,  intense  with  drowsy 
and  voluptuous  life.  Pale  blades  of  grass 
were  tenderly  thrusting  upward  from  edges 
of  the  warm  rocks.  And  yet  a  damp  scent 
of  last  year's  leaves,  that  perished  slowly 
in  the  hollows,  sternly  and  wholesomely 
reminded  him  how  the  world  cherishes  to 
destroy,  and  destroys  to  cherish  infinitely. 
Solemnity  closed  down  upon  him,  while  still 
a  kind  of  beatific  spell  ran  through  his  veins. 
For  a  long  time,  and  for  no  cause,  he  recalled 
only  the  winter  night  when  they  had  leaned 
together  on  the  rail,  watching. 

By  strong  effort,  at  last,  he  denied  this 
memory,  repulsed  this  longing,  and  cleared 
the  decks  of  his  mind. 

"I  must  go  away."  He  fell  back  on  the 
169 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

promise  doggedly.  And  the  thought  was 
like  lead  in  his  shoes,  that  once  would  have 
winged  them.  "As  quick  as  summer  comes, 
and  Ella  can  tend  lamps,  I'm  ofiF.  That's 
the  plain  course —  " 

Voices  were  coming,  at  the  first  sound  of 
which  he  sprang  upright.  Through  the 
evergreen  wall  pierced  the  quick  utterance 
of  Tony,  angrily  imploring. 

"Treat  me  this  way,  like  dirt.^"  he  was 
urging.  "And  all  because  a  fellow  likes  you, 
and  tells  you  so.^  Honestly,  I  mean  it, 
Anna.  And  what  right  have  I  given  you  to 
think  — " 

"Right!"  The  girl's  voice  also  trembled, 
but  as  though  with  helpless  fury.  "What 
right  have  you  to  hunt  and  drive  me  like  — 
like  —  Oh !  And  I  was  coming  here  just  to 
be  rid  of  you!" 

170 


THE    OTHER    CAMP 

"You  can't,  my  dear,"  said  the  other, 
cajoling.  "You  can't,  and  that's  a  fact. 
Come  now  — " 

A  cry  echoed  among  the  evergreens  as  in 
an  empty  room. 

"Go  back,  I  hate  the  sight  of  you!  Go 
back  and  let  me  alone!  I  wish  I  was  a  man, 
to  kill  you!" 

Miles  had  sprung  to  the  path  among  the 
firs.  It  widened  before  him  into  a  little  alley 
of  green  shadows,  where  the  girl  stood  facing 
Tony,  her  hand  raised  to  strike.  As  Miles 
broke  through  upon  them,  she  wheeled  with 
the  same  look,  the  same  cry,  as  when  he  had 
rowed  out  to  her  in  the  fog.  The  sailor  fell 
back.  The  malignant  flush  that  darkened  his 
face  was  new  and  ugly;  and  yet  in  his  eyes 
a  conflicting  change,  still  more  new  and 
lighted  with  a  saving  honesty,  continued  to 

171 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

blaze.  If  his  anger  were  black  as  smoke, 
through  it  flickered  some  higher  emotion. 

"  Hiding  in  the  bushes  ?  "  he  sneered.  "  You 
seem  fond  of  that." 

Miles  found  himself  unexpectedly  at  high 
tension. 

"It's  my  own  shore!"  he  cried,  choking. 
"You  be  off!" 

He  had  run  in  close.  They  seemed  on  the 
point  of  clinching,  when  the  girl  darted  be- 
tween them,  and  with  a  swiftness  that  had 
the  effect  of  strength,  caught  Miles  by  the 
arm,  and  flung  Tony  staggering  backwards. 

"For  shame!"  she  cried.  "Like  a  pair  of 
wild  savages!  I'm  ashamed  of  you  both!" 
From  under  the  high  arched  brows,  her  eyes 
sent  out  a  dangerous  light.  She  turned  but 
the  one  shaft  at  Tony.   "You  go!" 

He  stood  his  ground,  and  retorted  bitterly: 
172 


THE    OTHER    CAMP 

"Oh,  I  see.  There  is  something  between 
you." 

"No!"  She  dropped  the  arm  that  she  had 
clung  to.  And  at  the  word  or  the  move- 
ment, Miles  understood,  with  a  strange  tri- 
umph, his  late  repi^Ise  from  Alward's  Cove. 
"No,  there's  nothing.  But  there's  one  thing. 
Captain  Florio.  This  man's  real,  and  I  be- 
lieve him  clear  through.  And  the  way  I 
believe  you  is  just  skin-deep,  and  the  rest  all 
hollow!" 

Tony  made  a  little  plausible  gesture  of 
submission,  as  foreign  as  it  was  graceful. 

"Short  and  sweet,  that  is,"  he  answered. 
"Not  true,  all  the  same.  I'm  honest  my 
own  way,  if  I  don't  parade  it  like  a  God's 
miracle.  I  meant  all  I  said,  Anna;  it's  a 
pity  you  can't  take  it  so." 

He  turned  away,  a  jaunty  penitent,  swung 
173 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

his  wide  shoulders  edgewise  into  the  gap, 
and  disappeared  among  the  firs.  The  whisk- 
ing of  the  boughs  died  into  silence;  and  next 
moment  the  girl's  courage  had  fallen  slack. 

"Oh,  what  shall  I  do?"  she  whispered, 
as  if  alone.  Her  face  she  held  averted;  but 
Miles  could  see  her  head  shaken  like  a  daf- 
fodil on  the  stalk,  and  feel  the  hand  tremble 
which  had  caught  his  arm  again.  "Where 
can  I  go?  And  it's  in  the  same  house  with 
me —    They're  always  there." 

"Anna,"  he  ventured;  and  as  her  hand 
dropped  suddenly,  "  Have  n't  I  as  good  a 
right  to  call  you  so?  Come,  we're  old 
friends.   Tell  us." 

She  would  not  turn. 

"It's  — oh,  it's  nothing!" 

"If  it  should  be  anything?"  he  persisted. 
"If  you  —  won't  you  come  tell  me  then  ?" 

174 


THE    OTHER    CAMP 

She  looked  up  and  away  in  a  flash;  but 
he  had  caught  the  lustre  of  brimming  eyes. 

"There's  nobody  else  I  could — ' 

"Oh!"  he  cried  in  a  whirl.  "To  hear  you 
say  that  — " 

Footsteps  crossed  the  quarter-deck,  and 
scuffed  in  the  path  behind  them. 

"Hello!  Ex-scuse  me!"  called  a  hearty 
though  nasal  voice.  Like  an  aged  Puck  out 
of  the  bushes,  Hab  the  teamster  peered 
shiftily  into  their  cover.  The  girl  was  away 
like  a  fawn. 

The  teamster's  head  remained  as  though 
he  were  imbedded  in  the  evergreens. 
Wagging     it,    he     broke     into     batrachian 


song :  — 


'A  young  man  come  a-seekin'  her. 

For  to  make  her  his  dear. 

An'  he  to  his  trade 

Was  a  ship's  carpenteer!" 

175 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

"Didn't  think  it  of  ye,  Mile,"  he  added 
mournfully,  then  winked.  "Ella  stated  you 
was  down  here.  But  she  don't  figger  what 
was  up,  and  bless  ye,  I'll  never  give  it 
away."  He  looked  behind  him,  called 
"Here  he  is,  Mr.  Furfey,"  and  entered  the 
lane. 

A  stranger  followed  him. 

"Here,  Mile,"  continued  Habakkuk,  with 
a  flourish.  "This  feller's  the  gentleman 
I  drove  all  the  ways  down  here  to  interduce, 
name  of  Furfey." 

It  was  a  brisk,  insignificant  person  who 
stepped  forward,  a  smirking  little  man, 
half  shabby  and  half  prosperous,  plainly 
an  American,  but  not  of  the  countryside. 
His  interruption  had  thrown  Miles  into  a 
passion  of  disappointment;  yet  even  a  more 
fortunate  arrival  might  not  have  helped  the 

176 


THE    OTHER    CAMP 

man.  His  hand  was  too  moist  and  loose, 
his  pale  face  too  shrewdly  wrinkled,  and  his 
smile,  like  the  cold  stare  of  his  bulbous  blue 
eyes,  too  calculating;  even  his  trite  compli- 
ments seemed  a  piece  of  insinuation.  Alto- 
gether, Miles  disliked  him  on  sight,  as  one 
dislikes  a  grub  or  an  earwig. 

They  returned  together  to  the  deck,  where 
Old-Hab  left  them  to  confer.  For  some  time 
the  stranger  made  little  use  of  his  chance, 
but  though  all  too  ready  and  familiar,  chat- 
tered and  questioned  trivially,  with  a  studied 
inconsequence. 

"  Come,"  Miles  broke  in  at  last  impatiently. 
"I  don't  see  yet.  Please  tell  me  what  I  can 
do  for  you." 

The  man  became  very  confidential. 

"I'll  be  frank  with  you,"  he  promised 
glibly.   "We'll  come  square  to  it.  Ain't  that 

177 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

right  ?  I  may  have  dealin's  with  a  man  over 
here,  likely  —  man  named  Florio.  Now, 
you're  so  high  spoke  of  all  round,  I  store  by 
your  opinion.  See  ?  So  I  come  to  you,  like 
this,  and  says,  —  between  us,  mind,  —  what 
d'  ye  think  about  him  ?" 

Miles  considered.  From  the  first  mention, 
he  vaguely  saw  trouble  ahead  for  Tony; 
then,  not  at  all  vaguely,  saw  how  that  trouble 
might  at  least  send  Tony  packing.  The 
sooner  the  happier;  toward  just  such  a  rid- 
dance his  wishes  ran  like  fire.  To  speak  the 
mere  truth,  to  aid  the  law :  and  in  the  same 
thought  he  stood  confounded  at  his  own  base- 
ness. The  loyalty  might  all  be  on  one  side, 
yet  — 

"Better  see  Florio  yourself,"  he  answered. 
"You  can  judge.    He  lives  up  in  the  next 


cove." 


178 


THE    OTHER    CAMP 

The  stranger  argued  long,  and  surrendered 
reluctantly. 

"Well,"  he  sighed,  "I  s'pose  that's  right, 
if  you're  so  stubborn  to  it.  I'll  go  see 
him." 

He  slouched  away,  and  plunged  among  the 
bushes.  Miles,  climbing  toward  the  house, 
paused  halfway  on  the  slope,  to  look  down 
thoughtfully  at  the  shore.  Seldom  had  he 
encountered  so  many  persons  there  in  one 
day;  never  so  many  problems.  Life,  like 
the  fiddle-heads,  seemed  to  unfold  into  com- 
plexities. The  river  sparkled  through  chinks 
in  the  grove,  and  dazzled  broadly  across  a 
distant  gap,  where  the  path  swung  bare  to 
the  headland.  It  was  the  one  pass  to  Al ward's. 
But  the  stranger  did  not  darken  it,  either 
going  or  coming. 

"He'll  wait  down  there,"  thought  Miles, 
179 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

"then  come  lying  back,  and  say  he  can't 
find  Tony.  Spying!  And  I  couldn't  tell 
him!" 

He  could  not,  the  fact  was  adamant  — not 
even  to  save  the  hostage  in  the  other  camp. 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE  RUNNING   BROOK 

Some  weeks  later,  at  dusk  on  a  calm  evening, 
Miles  and  his  sole  companion  sat  outdoors  for 
the  first  time  that  year.  A  little  bench  — 
Tony's  handiwork  —  girdled  the  hackma- 
tack, so  that  while  leaning  against  the  same 
trunk,  each  saw  a  different  quarter  of  the 
valley,  and  talked  over  the  shoulder  lazily, 
facing  two  cardinal  points,  with  thoughts 
as  far  asunder.  The  time  was  neither  spring 
nor  summer,  but  that  rare  Arcadian  interval, 
too  brief  for  a  season,  too  elusive  for  even  a 
transition,  and  yet  in  the  calendar  of  sense 
marked  off  as  plain  as  a  festival.  The  night 
fell  neither  warm  nor  cool;  a  tempered  fra- 

181 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

grance  of  blossoms  drew  down,  without  stir 
of  air,  from  the  orchard  over  the  hill;  lower 
field  and  shore,  river  and  farthest  ridge,  lay- 
confounded  in  blackness  under  the  stars, 
land  and  water  parted  only  by  faint  zigzag 
margins,  where  the  last  edge  of  daylight  lined 
some  inlet  or  hooked  about  a  promontory, 

"Them  days,"  continued  Ella  in  a  distant 
monotone,  "the  Injuns  camped  in  back  of 
ar  house  at  Sweet  Water.  Old  Lewie  Nep- 
tune, he  was  chieft.  An'  nights  he  got  drunk, 
he'd  pitch  'em  outdoor,  so's  all  hands  would 
come  beg  for  in.  Midnight  an'  bitter  cold, 
sometimes,  women-fo'ks  an'  youngsters,  they 
rout  us  out  o'  bed.  Big  Mary,  ^neas 
Moon  an'  his  brother  Peter,  an'  Lolas  an' 
Francises  an'  Socabasins,  —  whol'  slews  of 
'em,  all  wropped  an'  huddledt  up  in  blan- 
kets, scairt,  an'  sayin'  they'd  be  killed.  I  see 

18^ 


THE   RUNNING   BROOK 

the  kitchen  floor  covered  with  'em,  many 
the  time,  sleepin'  curled  round  the  stove — 
Who's  that?" 

A  flurry  of  footsteps  came  up  out  of  the 
dark;  some  one  raced  by  them  toward  the 
house. 

"We're  out  here,"  called  Miles,  rising. 
"What's  wanted?" 

"Oh!"  The  runner  stopped,  and  returned 
panting.   "I've  come.  You  told  me  to." 

"Anna!"   he  cried  joyfully. 

She  stood  for  an  instant  motionless,  breath- 
ing hard;  gave  a  little  failure  of  a  laugh; 
then  spoke  quickly,  in  a  voice  meant  to  be 
calm. 

"I  stood  them  as  long  as  I  could.  Now 
you  must  tell  me  where  to  go.  Those  men! 
While  my  father  stayed  himself,  I  had  some- 
body;  but  now  he's  —  they're  both  against 

183 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

me."  She  broke  oflf,  as  though  stifled.  "I'll 
never  go  back;  I  won't,  I  won't!" 

Ella  suddenly  moved  between  them. 

"Come  in  the  house,"  she  ordered  coldly. 
"Can't  see  ye.  If  the'  's  trouble,  we'll  take 
a  light  to  it,  first  thing." 

They  went  in  together  to  the  front  room. 
Miles  lighted  the  candle  (which,  since  Tony's 
day,  replaced  the  lamp)  and  over  the  trem- 
bling leaf-point  of  flame  saw  the  girl's  head 
start  into  radiance  like  a  vision.  She  stood 
before  them  with  a  half- shy,  half-defiant  com- 
posure; but  her  eyes  and  her  brown  cheeks 
told  another  story,  a  pulse  throbbed  in  her 
bare  throat,  and  under  the  thin  blue  cloth  her 
breathing  fluttered  deeply. 

"He  tried  to  beat  me,"  she  said,  with  the 
same  quiet  scorn.    "Me,  after  all  the  time  I 


was — " 


184 


THE   RUNNING   BROOK 

Ella  had  stood  watching  with  eyes  puckered 
skeptically,  and  round  face  set  in  lines  of  no 
compromise.  But  now,  without  warning,  she 
flung  both  her  stout  arms  round  the  refugee. 

"Wild  Injuns!"  she  fumed.  "What  was 
I  tellin'  ye?  You're  all  alike,  you  men-fo'ks. 
There,  there,  poor  thing!"  Awkward  and 
motherly,  she  stroked  the  girl's  bright  hair, 
scolding  and  consoling  in  a  breath.  "There, 
there,  nubbin,  you're  all  of  a  quiver  —  all 
on  a  string.  Worse  'n  old  Neptune,  they 
are!  —  Miles,  I  left  my  knittin'  somewheres 
by  that  tree.   Jest  you  hyper  out  an'  find  it." 

Needles  and  all,  it  lay  on  the  table  before 
them,  but  Miles  obeyed.  He  paced  back  and 
forth  under  the  stars,  watching  the  lighted 
window.  He  should  be  sorry  for  her,  ran 
his  thought.  But  his  one  clear  emotion  was 
nothing  of  the  kind;  buoyantly,  against  rea- 

185 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

son  and  through  suspense,  rioted  the  convic- 
tion that  all  was  well.  When  the  voices 
ceased  within,  he  entered,  and  found  the 
two  women  sitting  like  friends  agreed.  They 
smiled  at  him  rather  uncertainly. 

"Well,"  exclaimed  the  elder,  whipping  a 
handkerchief  out  of  sight.  "That's  settled, 
anyhow.  She'll  stay  here  with  us  till  she 
finds  somewheres  better." 

"But  I  forgot,"  the  girl  objected.  "All 
my  things  are  there." 

"I'll  get  them,"  offered  Miles. 

"You'd  look  well,"  the  servant  retorted 
grimly.  "I'll  go  my  own  self.  Incidental, 
I'll  see  that  pair  o'  shoats.  And  they  won't 
ask  me  to  set  and  come  again,  either!" 

"But,"  said  the  girl,  "they'll  come  after 


me. 


"Let  'em!"  cried  Ella,  with  sudden  ex- 
186 


THE   RUNNING   BROOK 

travagance.  "I'll  set  'em  down  so  hard  they 
—  they  can  comb  their  hair  with  their  spinal 
columes!   Let  'em  come." 

For  that  night  no  one  accepted  the  chal- 
lenge; and  next  morning  Ella  promptly  de- 
scended on  Alward's,  to  return  in  ferocious 
triumph,  bearing  a  little  armful  of  spoils. 

"There's  your  clothes!"  she  cried  with  the 
voice  of  Deborah.  "A  haley  old  mess  that 
house  is  already,  without  ye!  What  did  I 
say  to  'em.^  Never  you  mind.  They  know 
more  'n  they  did.  The  fear  o'  the  Lord's 
the  beginnin'  o'  wisdom.  I  said  what  was 
vouched  to  me  that  hour.  I  bit  a  piece  out 
o' the  roof!" 

At  all  events  she  had  determined  the  sit- 
uation, and  from  now  forward  there  were 
three  in  the  house.  It  seemed  incredible. 
Miles  passed  the  first  days  in  a  dream,  a 

187 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

revolution  of  thoughts  and  habits.  To  have 
this  shining  guest  come  and  go  upon  the 
stairs,  or  sit  at  table  like  a  mortal,  or  read 
beside  the  window  on  rainy  afternoons,  or 
move  at  night  overhead  in  Tony's  cham- 
ber, not  only  threw  all  indoor  routine  into 
the  bright  confusion  of  drama,  but  changed 
the  very  air  upon  the  hills,  the  light  on  the 
waters.  The  valley  was  visited,  like  the  plains 
of  Mamre. 

And  even  when  this  earliest  wonder  passed, 
and  they  began  to  live  as  though  always  under 
the  same  roof,  he  could  not  find  the  old  bear- 
ings. The  change  had  scattered,  tossed,  and 
revived  his  faculties,  as  haymakers  pitch  a 
mouldy  windrow  abroad  in  the  sun.  By  an 
odd  transfer,  she  who  rightfully  should  radi- 
ate all  that  was  new  and  strange,  had  slipped 
at    once    into    customary    life,    established, 

188 


THE   RUNNING   BROOK 

familiar,  like  a  thing  of  childhood;  and  when 
they  walked  the  shore,  dug  in  the  garden  side 
by  side,  or  tended  lamps  in  the  early  evening, 
it  was  she  who  always  had  belonged  there: 
all  other  things  —  trees  he  had  seen  grow, 
rocks  he  knew  in  every  line  and  fissure, 
paths  he  could  follow  running  in  the  dark  — 
had  altered  as  after  long  absence  or  some 
new  gift  of  sight. 

It  was  a  happy,  incomprehensible  time; 
none  the  less  happy,  although  he  felt  some- 
how that  vague  elements  were  weaving  into 
danger,  that  an  unknown  thread  guided  them 
in  a  maze.  Perhaps  it  was  only  that  their 
delight  would  keep  no  even  level,  but  daily 
mounted;  perhaps  that  in  their  simplest 
talk,  when  their  friendship  seemed  the  oldest, 
there  fell  a  silence,  a  chance  word,  a  shock 
of  difference  or  agreement,  a  flash  of  bygone 

189 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

things,  to  show  how  unerringly  their  lines 
converged,  across  what  gulfs. 

One  afternoon,  when  summer  had  glowed 
and  ripened,  they  revisited  Kilmarnock  Brook. 
Alders  flanked  the  bend  through  a  long 
meadow,  mapping  it  distantly  as  a  curved 
wall  of  darker  green,  and  losing  it,  to  near 
approach,  in  a  cool,  low  wood  where  grassy 
clearings  wound  so  intricately  that  a  stranger 
(unless  he  made  the  one  plunge  through 
tangle)  might  wander  among  leaves,  see  the 
oozy  light  quivering  over  them  from  below, 
and  hear  the  invisible  water  sing  like  a  stream 
of  Tantalus.  But  Anna  and  Miles  knew  all 
these  interlocked  recesses,  and,  threading  them 
in  and  out,  had  reached  their  own  secret 
place,  —  an  alder  closet,  where  a  tiny  crescent 
of  lawn  curved  round  a  pool.  On  a  bank  which 
ran   smoothly   into   brown   water,   they   sat 

190 


THE    RUNNING   BROOK 

a  little  apart,  in  shadow.  Above  them  sun- 
light dappled  the  leaves,  and  day-flies  danced 
in  brief  ecstasy ;  below,  with  a  delicate  breath 
of  steeping  earth  and  roots  and  brookmint, 
the  water  stole  away  silently,  to  take  up  its 
tinkling  narrative  round  the  next  bend. 

For  a  long  time  neither  had  spoken.  Sud- 
denly Miles  laughed. 

"Ophelia!" 

She  was  looking  past  her  open  book,  con- 
sidering the  pool. 

"You  needn't  call  names,"  she  replied, 
without  rousing.  "Besides,  I  don't  know 
what  you  mean." 

"'Read  on  this  book!'"  he  scoffed.  "The 
old  chucklehead  knew!  No  girl  would  ever 
read  in  one." 

"A  lot  you  know  about  them!"  She 
laughed  at  him,  with  a  sidelong  glance,  but 

191 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

quickly  returned  to  her  contemplation.  "I 
was  thinking." 

"What?" 

She  shook  her  head.  A  leaf-pattern  of 
shadows  and  golden  flame  settled  once  more 
upon  it,  trembling. 

"  The  river-drivers,"  she  answered  at  last. 
"I  was  only  thinking  about  the  river-drivers." 

Following  her  glance,  he  tried,  as  he  had 
so  often  tried  in  the  last  weeks,  to  see  with 
her  eyes.  The  peace  of  the  pool  beside  them, 
like  all  peace  in  Nature,  was  an  illusion. 
Minnows  steered  over  the  brown  sand,  or 
whipped  their  magnified  shadows,  blurred 
and  globular,  through  sunny  patches  under 
the  farther  bank;  even  where  the  water  lay 
most  dark  and  thick,  weeds  tugged  slowly 
at  the  tether;  and  over  the  surface  her  "river- 
drivers,"  snapping  and  kicking  between  wind 

192 


THE   RUNNING   BROOK 

and  water,  floated  erratically  down  an  imper- 
ceptible current. 

"About  those?"  he  asked  incredulously. 
"What,  those  beetles?" 

"Yes."  Her  eyes  danced  with  that  look 
of  hers  which  he  had  never  seen  in  any  other 
person,  —  a  look  both  grave  and  whimsical. 
"Yes,  they're  only  beetles.  See,  though: 
they  scoot  here  and  there,  but  always  head 
upstream.  They  can't  have  any  reason  to, 
and  it's  so  much  easier  going  down.  And 
still  they're  stubborn,  and  fight  along.  I 
wonder  — I  think  they  must  have  an  Idea." 

"You're  a  funny  girl!"  he  laughed.  Yet 
as  he  watched,  the  darting  insects  began  to 
appear  not  wholly  insensate. 

"Now  the  fish  down  there,"  she  continued, 
as  though  to  herself,  "they  nose  about  their 
business.    And  the  day-flies — with  them  it's 

193 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

all  dancing,  —  just  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry. 
But  the  river-drivers  —  see  that  one,  float- 
ing on  the  blade  of  grass,  all  tired  out;  and 
there  he  goes  again,  up  and  up,  and  all  the 
time  carried  below.  They're  like  —  like 
people.  They're  betwixt  and  between,  like 
us.  And  it  may  be  no  use.  But  they  must. 
Their  Idea.  And  the  stream  flows  down  and 
down,  and  sweeps  everything — " 

Her  words  were  quiet  as  the  brook  beyond. 

"A  parable,"  said  Miles. 

His  voice  rose  no  higher;  for  both  were 
suddenly  a  little  awed,  as  though  their  spirits 
had  caught  some  rushing  echo  of  that  broader 
flood,  the  irrevocable  and  universal.  And 
now  some  influence  as  wide,  something 
neither  gradual  nor  swift,  closed  about  them 
powerfully.  They  had  leaned  forward,  shoul- 
der to  shoulder,   over  the  brown  pool;  but 

194 


THE    RUNNING    BROOK 

at  this  mystical,  blind  accession,  each  felt 
the  other  tremble  and  draw  back. 

A  kingfisher  chattered  angrily,  away  in 
the  upper  reaches.  It  was  the  recurring 
silence,  however,  that  alarmed.  Of  all  their 
silences,  this  seemed  as  it  were  the  end,  the 
turning,  and  the  explication.  But  still  it 
endured,  throbbing  with  a  perilous  energy. 

Slowly,  in  a  kind  of  sleep-waking  effort, 
the  girl  got  upon  her  feet. 

"Come,"  she  said.  Her  face,  in  the  alder 
shadows,  was  very  pale.  A  shiver  of  light 
from  the  brook  played  golden  about  her 
throat,  like  the  reflected  glow  of  buttercups  in 
the  children's  game. 

"Come,"  she  repeated.  "We  can't  —  we 
must  get  home." 

Moved  by  the  helplessness  of  that  com- 
mand, he  followed.    They  crossed  the  sunset 

195 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

pastures  almost  without  word  or  look,  like 
pilgrims  crossing  the  Debatable  Ground. 
And  when  they  had  climbed  the  last  hill,  and 
come  racing  steeply  down  toward  the  river 
and  the  house,  she  went  straight  to  the  shel- 
ter of  Ella's  kitchen. 

He  did  not  see  her  alone  again  till  that 
evening.  Meanwhile  he  had  walked  the  shore, 
raging  at  himself  for  what  had  passed,  put 
almost  beside  his  reason  at  thought  of  what 
might  come.  After  blindness,  it  was  an  aching 
sight  that  disclosed  how  their  friendship  — 
so  wholesome,  firm,  and  precious  —  could 
change  at  a  breath,  and  in  the  most  tranquil 
moment  of  security  could  totter  above  un- 
known deeps.  Was  he  then  worse  than  Tony, 
and  their  house  no  better  than  the  drunk- 
ard's .^  This  girl  had  fled  to  him;  she  had 
taken  his  promises,  was  here  upon  his  honor; 

196 


THE   RUNNING   BROOK 

and  now,  because  he  had  willfully  drifted 
down  a  pleasant  way,  they  had  reached  such 
a  pass  that  —  He  closed  the  thought  with  a 
groan.  By  some  detestable  trick,  he  foresaw, 
their  very  speech  could  no  longer  be  free  and 
honest. 

She  made  no  offer,  that  evening,  to  go 
down  with  him  to  the  lamps;  and  he  was 
rather  glad  of  the  fact  than  sorry  at  its  cause. 
To  walk  alone  from  tower  to  tower,  through 
the  cool  firs  and  cedars,  proved  a  respite. 
Yet  when  he  faced  the  hill  to  return,  trepi- 
dation seized  him  afresh.  He  climbed  to- 
ward the  house,  vexed  and  wondering;  and 
for  the  second  time  in  all  his  memory,  was 
afraid  to  enter. 

She  sat  behind  the  candle-flame,  a  great 
book  flattened  wide  on  the  table,  and  her 
head  bent  over  it  as  for  dear  life.    All  the 

197 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

brightness  in  the  room  had  gathered  in  this 
corner,  and  at  first  he  dared  not  go  near. 
But  it  was  now  or  never  with  his  play-acting; 
and  so,  choosing  a  book  at  random,  he  sat 
down  opposite  her  resolutely,  to  begin  the 
pretense  that  all  things  remained  as  before. 
Ella  had  gone  to  bed  with  the  birds.  Ex- 
cept the  two  readers,  all  the  world  might  have 
been  asleep.  Their  breathing,  and  the  tick 
of  a  deathwatch  in  the  wall,  made  the  only 
sounds  in  house  or  valley.  For  all  the  window 
stood  open,  the  little  blade  of  light  between 
them  reared  without  wavering.  This  silence 
at  full  stretch,  this  preposterous  calmness  at 
close  range,  were  alike  unreal  and  unbear- 
able. His  book  appeared  to  be  "The  Polar 
and  Tropical  Worlds,"  a  treasury  of  boy- 
hood; but  the  pictures  swam  in  a  blur  — 
icebergs,  gorillas,  the  open  coflSn  on  Spitz- 

198 


THE   RUNNING   BROOK 

bergen,  the  march  of  land-crabs  through  a 
palm-grove,  all  an  empty  jumble.  Some- 
times his  eyesight  escaped  the  page;  but  then 
perhaps  he  found  her  looking  up,  by  the  same 
chance;  caught  for  an  instant,  as  her  eyes 
dropped,  the  last  of  a  pitiful,  appealing 
light;  and  plunged  into  his  book  again, 
like  a  desperate  man  hunting  a  text  of 
divination. 

He  might  thus  have  turned  a  hundred 
pages,  and  she  none  at  all,  when  the  contest 
ended.  There  came  a  stir,  a  little  broken 
sound,  abrupt  and  choking,  which  tugged  at 
his  heart  more  than  words. 

"  Oh, "  she  sobbed,  "  where  can  I  go  next  ?" 
and  dropped  head  upon  arms,  across  the  open 
volume. 

As  though  a  musket  were  shot  off  in  the 
room,  his  chair  had  struck  the  floor.  He 
199 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

circled  the  table  and  caught  her  up,  in  a  gust 
that  sent  the  candle-light  reeling. 

"Oh,  what  a  wretched  girl!"  she  cried, 
her  voice  stifled  in  his  jacket. 

All  the  inevitable  drift  of  their  summer, 
the  whole  multitude  of  their  hidden  motives, 
shone  clear  before  and  about  them,  —  a 
wide,  manifold  peace  in  the  tumult,  like  a 
field  of  daisies  seen  by  lightning. 


CHAPTER   X 
TONY  PASSES 

The  birds,  after  a  dawning  chorus  of  ve- 
hement, almost  theatric  joy,  made  their  first 
short  flights  from  cover  to  cover  among  the 
elms.  The  rim  of  eastern  hills  had  grown  in- 
candescent, till  like  a  coal  of  fire  snapping  a 
tight  cord,  the  sun  burned  through  the  hori- 
zon, and  drove  thin  vapors  slowly  across 
the  river.  They  rolled  back,  parting  for  a 
phantom  Exodus.  The  breath  of  the  sea 
mingled  sharply  with  cool  fresh- water  smells 
alongshore,  and  in  the  fields  with  the  fairy 
spice  of  dying  strawberry  leaves.  It  was  that 
bright  weather  which  comes  once  in  a  man's 
life;  and  Miles,  his  boots  soaked  in  dew, 
201 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

spattered  to  the  knee  with  white  and  yellow 
petals,  came  wading  home  through  tall  grass. 

Ella  was  rattling  about  her  stove,  alone  in 
the  kitchen. 

"Don't  track  that  gurry  in  here,"  she  com- 
manded, glancing  sourly. 

"What's  the  odds,"  he  laughed,  "a  morn- 
ing like  this  ?  It's  all  clean." 

She  turned  on  him  sharply,  but  in  the  same 
instant  checking  her  reply,  gave  him  a  sus- 
picious, discountenancing  stare. 

"Leapin'  the  fields,  hey?"  She  slammed 
the  iron  door  with  something  like  a  grunt. 

Miles  sat  down  on  the  doorstep,  as  if  to 
clean  his  boots,  but  in  reality  to  give  his 
thoughts  a  breathing-space,  survey  the  new 
kingdoms  which  they  had  coursed,  and  take 
the  height  and  depth  of  their  discovery.  Not 
over  the  hills,  or  past  the  dazzling  limit  of 

202 


TONY  PASSES 

the  bay,  but  here  in  these  four  walls  lived  his 
happiness.  The  old  plans,  long  disregarded 
and  summer-fallow,  now  lay  entirely  barren. 
He  had  meant  to  go  away,  to  run  about  in  the 
world,  and  for  no  purpose,  except  to  seek 
in  new  combinations  what  he  might  all  the 
time  have  left  buried  here.  Here  in  this  house 
the  past  grief,  the  present  transport,  alike 
had  found  their  man.  And  what  greed  could 
harry  more  out  of  life.^  Nowhere  else,  here; 
in  wonder  he  turned  to  look  indoors  upon 
that  homely  and  amazing  theatre. 

Instead,  he  saw  Ella  standing  over  him  in 
the  doorway.  The  strangeness  of  her  look 
at  once  laid  hold  of  him;  for  the  round, 
freckled  face  was  no  longer  whimsical,  but 
sad,  earnest,  even  a  little  pale. 

She  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"Don't  you  be  mad,"  she  began.  "Don't 
203 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

be  mad  with  me,  will  ye,  for  what  I'm  goin* 
to  say  ?" 

"Why,  Ella,"  he  laughed,  "of  course  not. 
What's  the  matter?" 

"Lots."  She  nodded,  grave  and  threaten- 
ing. "Lots  the  matter.  I  be'n  a  foolish, 
cross-eyed  old  woman:  that's  the  first. 
Set  up  for  a  smart  contriver,  and  'ain't  the 
brains  o'  Larrabee's  calf.  Oh,  meddlin'  with 
people!  It's  dangerous,  I  tell  ye.  Miles,  it's 
dangerous!  Ye  mean  well,  all  along,  and  stir 
things  round  so  clever  (ye  think),  and  then 
some  mornin'  wake  up  to  see  you've  upsot 
all  —  hurrah's  nest,  everything  on  top,  an' 
nothin'  to  hand!" 

She  made  a  clumsy,  derisive  gesture,  and 
spoke  on,  hurriedly,  a  tinge  of  red  rising  in 
her  cheeks. 

"Funny  I'd  use  that  sailor-talk  I  learnt 
204 


TONY  PASSES 

from  him.  But  there!  Might's  well  say  it: 
he  was  in  my  mind."  She  looked  away  from 
Miles,  and  down  upon  the  river,  where  the 
topsails  of  a  schooner,  slate  gray,  glided 
above  the  fir-points.  "  When  ain't  he  there  ? 
Though  I  guess  you  never  heard  me  talk  o' 
him  before.  Ben  Constantine,  that  was  — 
Seems  no  more'n  last  week  I  see  his  tops'ls 
go  down  same  as  hers  now.  And  I  never  — 
I  ain't  ever  spoke  of  it  sence.  That's  how  I 
know.  And  that's  how  I  say  it's  dangerous." 

Her  eyes  returned  to  him  wearily,  and  yet 
with  such  depth  and  fire  as  he  had  not  known 
they  could  contain. 

"What  did  I  promise?"  she  cried,  in  re- 
proach. "What  else  did  I  promise  your 
gran'father,  that  last  day,  but  jest  to  take  his 
place  and  see  you  steered  the  course?  And 
look  at  me,  how  I  let  all  slide,  so  long  — 
205 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

because  you  and  me  and  Anna  has  lived 
happy  here!  'Tain't  a  world  to  be  happy  in, 
but  to  git  ahead.  And  the  Lord  forgive  me 
for  sayin'  that,  if  it  should  be  a  lie!" 

He  could  only  stare  at  her,  astounded  by 
this  flame  from  ashes,  this  grief,  perplexity, 
and  passionate  conviction. 

"So  you  must  go.  When  I  see  that  light 
to  your  eyes  this  mornin',  and  on  your  face 
—  Oh,  I  know  it  still,  these  many  years  — 
Come,  go,  before  she  'pears  to  be  somethin' 
dropped  down  out  the  skies  right  beside  ye! 
But  anyhow,  'fore  that  poor  child  thinks  the 
same  o'  you.  If  ye  don't,  what's  ahead  for 
her  ?  Oh,  it  takes  me  to  know  what!" 

Miles  held  up  a  restraining  hand. 

"Too  late,  Ella,"  he  declared  soberly. 
"She  seems  that  already,  and  —  I  told  her." 

The  woman  dropped  her  arms  as  in  defeat. 
206 


TONY  PASSES 

"Be  good  to  us  all!"  she  groaned.  "It's 
my  fault." 

"I  could  n't  help  it,"  he  began  weakly. 

"Help  it!"  she  snapped,  with  an  instant 
change  of  temper.  "I  should  hope  not! 
Help  human  natur'  ?  Who  are  you,  to  talk 
that  way?  Gunpowder's  gunpowder:  it  goes 
bang  in  the  best  settin'-room  or  out  in  the 
street.    But  this  time  't  was  my  fault." 

"No,"  said  a  voice  behind  them,  "it  was 
mine." 

They  turned  like  conspirators  taken  in  the 
fact,  and  with  a  mixed  dismay;  for  the  girl 
stood  by  the  kitchen  table,  not  only  tranquil 
as  a  judge,  but  white  as  a  victim.  Her  bear- 
ing was  unchanged,  her  voice  level ;  she  had 
never  seemed  more  beautiful,  more  neces- 
sary; and  yet  the  very  friendship  in  her  eyes 
struck  him  like  a  blow. 
207 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

*'The  other  door  was  open,"  she  said,  with 
the  same  mortal  calmness.  "At  first  I  did  n't 
know  you  meant  me.  It's  my  fault,  Ella.  But 
it's  easy  to  set  right.  I'll  go  this  morning." 

They  both  cried  out  against  her. 

"Go!  Hark  the  nonsense!"  Ella  tried 
cheerfully  to  bluster.  "We  was  jest  talkin'! 
Go  where?" 

"It  does  n't  matter  where,"  she  answered 
steadily.  "The  main  thing  is  to  go.  I  did 
wrong  to  stay  at  all,  but  —  I  did  n't  under- 
stand." 

With  a  face  as  pale  as  her  own.  Miles  stood 
grasping  the  door  frame.  He  had  been  raised 
above  the  world,  to  see  the  lighted  prospect 
of  felicity;  and  now  his  pinnacle  was  knocked 
from  under. 

"Anna,"  he  ventured,  moving  heavily 
across  the  threshold.   "Anna,  don't  — " 

208 


TONY  PASSES 

"I  did  n't  understand."  Her  lips  trembled 
slightly,  but  she  met  him  still  with  that  in- 
tolerable friendliness.  "The  less  we  say  now, 
the  —  the  better  every  way." 

All  three  stood  at  a  loss,  without  speaking. 
There  seemed  no  outlet  to  their  distress.  The 
fire  fluttering  in  the  stove  mocked  them  with 
small,  pleasant,  household  sounds. 

Other  sounds  went  unheeded.  They  heard 
a  runner  come  pounding  down  the  hill,  saw 
him  flash  past  the  window,  and  might  never 
have  turned  to  look,  had  he  not  bounded  in 
headlong  at  the  door.  Tony,  his  black  hair 
tousled  as  by  a  gale,  his  face  fire-red  and 
shining  with  sweat,  caught  breath  enough  to 
laugh.  The  brown  butt  of  a  pistol  stuck  out 
from  the  flap  of  his  shirt. 

"Miles,  old  mate,  I  need  you!"  he  panted. 
They  had  not  met  since  the  quarrel,  yet  here 
209 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

he  stood,  catching  up  their  old  relation  as 
handily  as  though  he  had  but  stepped  out- 
doors a  moment  ago.  "Runup  to  Alward's 
and  fetch  the  boat,  will  you?  I'm  in  a 
mess."  Catching  sight  of  the  two  women,  he 
nodded  cheerfully.  "Hallo!  No  time  for 
shore  manners.  I'm  in  a  mess.  Come  out- 
side a  jiffy." 

Miles  followed  him  into  the  sunlight. 
Below  the  step  Tony  turned  his  back 
upon  the  door,  and  spoke  in  a  rapid  under- 
tone. 

"I  must  get  across  that  river.  Savee?" 
His  breath  still  came  hard,  his  face  shone 
bright,  like  that  of  a  man  inspired  by  danger; 
and  he  watched  the  hill  above,  with  little 
side  glances,  cool  and  shrewd.  "Abe's  done 
it  this  time  —  killed  a  man.  On  the  spree. 
Poor  ass  named  Furfey.  Finish!" 

210 


TONY  PASSES 

In  the  same  breath  his  indifference  van- 
ished. He  looked  Miles  square  in  the  eye, 
full  force. 

"We've  had  our  ins  and  outs,"  he  urged, 
"but  you  can't  think  I'm  up  to  that,  now! 
Can  you  ?" 

It  was  impossible  to  deny  the  man's  earnest- 
ness. 

"All  right,  then,"  he  cried  heartily.  "If 
you  believe  me,  I  don't  care!  But  they 
won't!  That  teamster  found  it,  and  Abe's 
got  away  clear.  Half  Kilmarnock's  hanging 
about  Alward's;  other  half  out  chasing  me, 
pitchfork  and  blunderbuss.  Get  the  boat, 
will  you  ?  I  doubled  and  slipped  'em,  up  there 
in  the  woods  —  " 

In  the  act  of  nodding  toward  the  hill,  he 
paused  and  listened. 

"Oh,  did  I,  though.^"  he  drawled  satiric- 
211 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

ally;  then  laughing  like  a  schoolboy,  he 
shook  his  fist  at  the  landscape,  whirled  about, 
and  darted  into  the  house. 

A  squad  of  men  bobbed  into  sight  above 
the  crest,  and  came  running  heavily  down. 
The  first  was  Old-Hab ;  the  last  —  fat,  cau- 
tious, and  far  behind  —  was  Quinn  the  post- 
master. They  swarmed  about  Miles  at  the 
door,  all  seven  or  eight,  like  men  who  had 
their  fill  of  running;  but  their  eyes  were 
sharpened,  their  tongues  loosed,  with  the 
excitement  of  a  lifetime;  and  their  firearms, 
though  of  a  quaint  variety,  were  solid  and 
eflScacious. 

Of  the  many  questions,  Old-Hab's  rose 
loudest. 

"Where's  the  murd'rer?"  he  shouted, 
grounding  a  "Zulu"  fowling-piece.  "Which 
way'd  he  run,  Mile.^" 

212 


TONY  PASSES 

"What    murderer?"    said    Miles,    giving 
Tony  all  benefits. 

"Why,"  began  Habakkuk,  "the  black  man 
with  the  teeth  —  this  Ital — " 

But  his  followers  sent  up  a  roar. 

"There  he  goes!   There  he  goes!" 

The  whole  posse  swept  on  down  the  hill. 
Below,  halfway  to  the  evergreens,  Tony  was 
racing  in  full  view.  He  cleared  the  rough 
hillside  in  flying  bounds,  nimble  as  a  goat. 
By  slipping  through  the  house  he  had  gained 
such  a  screen  for  his  start,  that  now,  with 
fifty  yards  to  spare,  he  dove  headfirst  into 
the  cedars,  and  disappeared. 

Habakkuk's  men  plunged  after  —  Miles 
among  the  foremost  —  and,  lashing  each  other 
with  springy  branches  as  they  fought  through, 
swung  up  river  along  the  shore.  The  sailor 
thundered  across  the  gully  bridge,  clattered 
213 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

over  the  quarter-deck,  and  passed  at  once 
out  of  earshot.  Running  their  hardest,  they 
caught  neither  sight  nor  sound.  Then  sud- 
denly, from  the  shore  below,  a  man  hallooed. 
The  roar  of  a  gun  shattered  the  early  morn- 
ing stillness,  echoed  along  rocks  and  river. 
Miles  and  the  others  breasted  the  lower 
bushes  on  the  headland,  in  time  to  see,  against 
the  white  side  of  the  stunted  obelisk  ahead, 
a  flying  figure  spring  up,  wrench  open  the 
door,  slip  through,  and  slam  it  shut. 

Round  the  next  bend  they  nearly  fell  over 
a  man  stooping  in  the  path.  He  rose  —  a 
young  giant  with  a  shock  of  sun-bleached 
hair,  who  grinned  foolishly  at  Habakkuk. 

"Nigh  winged  'im,  pa,"  he  chuckled. 
"Thought  I  hed,  but  don't  see  no  blood.' 

"Ye  brimston'  w'elp!"  cried  his  father 
bitterly.    "Who  wants  to  see  any?" 

214 


TONY  PASSES 

"W'elp,  hey?"  retorted  Lazy-Hab,  serene 
as  an  ox.  "  Who  else  was  a-watchin'  the  shore  ? 
He  woulden'  'a'  run  inland.  Stood  to  rea- 
son." He  blew  the  smoke  from  his  gun-barrel, 
and  added  proudly:  "All  is,  't  was  me  doubled 
'im.  We  got  'im  now,  tighter  'n  pitch." 

As  they  drew  near,  no  sound  came  from 
the  little  tower.  The  sailor  had  gained,  at 
least,  the  high  advantage  of  being  neither 
heard  nor  seen.  Halting,  the  men  waited  in 
uneasy  silence,  —  so  uneasy,  that  they  began 
to  scatter  behind  firs  and  boulders.  Old-Hab 
stood  in  the  open,  negligently,  but  with  a 
face  more  weazened  than  ever. 

"Inside  there!"  he  called,  in  a  doubtful 
tone.  "  The'  's  been  f ogo  enough,  f er  one 
mornin'.  Master  fogo.  Better  come  out  and 
make  it  no  worse.  We  don't  hanker  fer  no 
more  shootin'." 

215 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

"More  you'll  get,  if  you  try  to  rush  me." 
Tony's  voice  rang  hollow  within  the  walls. 
"I'm  better  at  it,  too,  than  that  young 
red-headed  savage,  there."  He  paused.  "I 
tell  you.  There's  just  one  way  out  o'  this 
nonsense.  Send  Miles  Bissant  in  here.  I  can 
trust  him.  We'll  splice  things  up.  Fair  play, 
now,  and  flag  o'  truce,  mind  you!  Him  alone, 
or  I'll  — " 

"That's  fair,"  said  Miles,  and  stepped 
forward. 

Old-Hab  clutched  his  arm. 

"It's  a  trick!"  he  whispered.  "Don't  ye 
go.  Mile.  It's  a  trick!  He  might  —  ye  may 
git  hurt  — " 

"Somebody  may,  anyhow,"  Miles  an- 
swered, pulling  free.  "  Keep  your  men  back." 
He  walked  to  the  foot  of  the  lighthouse,  and 
called,  '*Here  you  are,  Tony." 

216 


TONY  PASSES 

The  door  swung  barely  enough  to  let  him 
squeeze  through,  and  slammed  at  once.  In 
the  gloom,  he  heard  the  lock  click,  and  Tony 
laugh  quietly. 

"Lucky  I  forgot  to  give  up  my  key!  Got 
yours  with  you.^" 

Miles  fumbled  in  his  pockets.  "No,"  he 
answered. 

"Good  boy!  Great!"  The  sailor  swore 
joyfully  under  his  breath.  "They  haven't 
caught  me  yet !  Come  topside  where  I  can  see 

you." 

They  climbed  the  stairs,  and,  blinking  at 
the  sudden  daylight  glare  in  the  lamp-room, 
sat  face  to  face  on  opposite  edges  of  the  trap- 
door. Tony  laid  his  pistol  at  his  thigh,  leaned 
back  against  a  coil  of  rope,  and  swung  his 
feet  comfortably  in  the  lower  darkness. 

"It's bad  pidgin," he  said,  frowning.  "Bad. 
217 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

Only  some  revenue  skunk,  but  then!  What 
business  has  a  dead  man  to  look  so  beastly 
respectable,  all  at  once?  Damn  it!"  Heav- 
ing his  shoulders,  he  laughed  scornfully. 
"Abe  was  getting  ready  to  sell  me  out. 
The  price,  I  fancy,  was  where  they  dis- 
agreed." 

He  spat  down  the  stairway,  in  disgust. 

"Funny,"  he  continued  after  a  pause; 
^'you're  the  only  person  would  believe  me. 
It's  just  Abe's  word  against  mine,  and  he's 
got  clear.  If  they  catch  me  —  Humph! 
Finish!"  He  patted  the  coil  of  rope,  and 
dropped  head  on  shoulder,  in  a  shocking 
pantomime.  "But  you're  the  one  I  expected 
to  founder  on,  not  Abe.  Ever  since  you 
sighted  old  Quong  that  night  —  you  remem- 
ber? The  Chinaman:  he  bought  for  me. 
And  yet  here  you  sit,  the  one  man  to  believe 

218 


TONY  PASSES 

me!"  —  He  leaned  across,  clapped  Miles 
on  the  shoulder,  and  shook  him  gently.  His 
face  lighted,  very  grave  and  simple.  "Lied 
to  you  so  much,  I  don't —  Anyhow,  God 
bless  you,  old  Sober-sides!" 

He  leaned  back  again,  laughed  as  though 
ashamed,  and  swung  his  feet  vigorously. 

"Opium  was  our  game,"  he  said.  "Tidy 
consignment  stowed  across  the  river.  If  I 
could  once  get  over,  and  see  Graves,  the  rest 
is  all  greased  ways.  I'd  have  made  it,  too, 
but  that  young  red-head  "  (he  raised  a  tat- 
tered shirt-sleeve)  "nearly  blew  my  arm  off. 
We've  seen  enough  of  that.  But  we'll  see 
worse,  unless  you  do  what  I  ask  you.  They're 
fools,  but  no  cowards;  that's  what  I  figure 
on —  Just  one  way;  do  it,  and  all's  right  and 
tight,  every  man  Jack,  safe  and  sound.  Will 
you?" 

219 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

"What  is  it?"  said  Miles.  "I  came  up 
here  to  make  terms." 

"So  you  did,"  laughed  Florio.  "And 
here's  mine.  You  slip  down,  quiet  as  you 
can;  unlock  the  door,  quiet  as  you  can; 
leave  the  key  in  the  lock,  and  wait  on  the 
stairs  till  I  signal  you  to  come  topside  again. 
I  promise  not  to  lay  a  finger  on  one  of  'em. 
Solemn!"  Seeing  Miles  hesitate,  he  scram- 
bled to  his  feet  briskly.  "Take  or  leave  it, 
that's  my  ultimatum.  They've  got  me  in  a 
clove  hitch.  Lies  with  you,  now,  to  fetch  us 
all  out  alive." 

Slowly,  far  from  satisfied.  Miles  swung 
down  through  the  floor.  He  had  already 
sunk  into  the  darkness,  when  Tony 
called,  — 

"Steady  a  bit." 

He  saw  the  man's  head  and  shoulder, 
220 


TONY  PASSES 

sharp  in  the  lighted  square  above;  saw  a 
great  arm  thrust  down ;  and  felt  his  own  hand 
gripped  with  a  surprising  warmth. 

"About  that  girl,"  growled  Tony.  "I  hope 
you  know  that  she's  a  wonder.  You  made 
me  damned  mad,  because  —  Well,  I  'm  getting 
old,  maybe.  I  really  did  —  She  did  fetch 
me.  You  that's  young!  Tell  her  that,  some 
day." 

He  let  go,  and  drew  back  out  of  sight. 
Miles,  in  astonishment,  groped  his  way  down 
to  the  door.  A  few  light,  scurrying  sounds 
came  from  above;  the  turning  key  squeaked 
faintly;  then  all  the  hollow  shaft  was  filled 
with  silence. 

He  saw  neither  purpose  nor  sense  in  their 
agreement,  which,  the  longer  he  waited,  the 
less  he  liked.  Tony's  afterthought,  more- 
over, stuck  oddly  in  his  memory,  like  words 
221 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

at  parting.  He  had  begun  to  wonder  what 
signal  the  sailor  would  give,  when,  sudden 
and  deafening  in  that  confinement,  a  pistol- 
shot  rang  overhead. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    RISK 

He  took  the  stairs  at  a  bound,  stumbling 
in  the  dark.  Below,  while  he  mounted,  an 
uproar  broke  out.  "Come  ahead!  No!  I 
told  ye!  Wait,  hoF  on!  What,  leave  him.? 
Stave  'er  in!"  Through  it  sounded  another 
voice,  clear  as  the  ring  of  good  metal  in 
a  brawl.  "Afraid!"  It  was  Anna,  crying  in- 
dignantly, "And  you  sent  him!  Grown  men, 
afraid  ?  Then  I  will  without  you!" 

Next  moment  —  catching  his  breath  like 
a  diver,  at  thought  of  what  he  was  about  to 
see  —  he  surged  up  through  the  bright 
square.  He  met  an  equal  shock  of  relief  and 
bewilderment.  A  pair  of  boots  lay  on  the 
223 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

floor;  white  layers  of  smoke  drew  thinly  past 
the  gleaming  brass-work  of  the  lamp;  but 
except  for  these  and  the  smell  of  gunpowder, 
the  room  was  empty.  The  sailor  —  it  seemed 
at  first  glance  —  had  vanished  like  a  goblin. 
But  though  the  stair  shook  with  hurried 
trampling,  Miles  heard  above  it  a  sharp, 
jerky,  sawing  noise,  cut  short  just  as  a  bight 
of  rope,  rasping  double  round  a  beam,  un- 
coiled and  flew  single  out  at  the  open  win- 
dow. Tony  was  gone,  then,  in  no  flash  of 
fire ;  but  why  had  he  shot  oflF  his  pistol  ? 

Before  Miles  could  find  the  answer,  a 
scuflBe  rose  at  the  stair-head. 

"Leave  go!  Let  me  go!"  cried  Anna 
furiously. 

"No,  ye  don't!  Me  first!"  And  Old- 
Hab  swarmed  up  through  the  opening. 
Whatever  he  expected  to  encounter,  his  face 

224 


THE  RISK 

was  white  with  anything  but  fear.  "You!" 
he  exclaimed,  lowering  his  gun.  "You! 
Where's  —  Thank  God,  't  any  rate!" 

Behind  him  the  girl's  head  rose,  gleaming 
first  in  the  sun,  then  —  as  she  found  Miles  — 
with  an  inward  and  more  vital  splendor. 
They  did  not  speak,  or  need  to;  for  in  one 
bright  instant  of  surprise  each  saw  the  other 
restored  and  exalted. 

Behind  her,  in  turn,  came  huddling  up- 
ward the  faces  of  the  men,  some  red,  some 
pale,  but  all  wide-eyed,  gaping,  and  con- 
torted, like  faces  of  hunters  at  the  mouth 
of  a  lair. 

"What  in —  Where's  he  gone?"  they 
shouted. 

"Got  away,"  called  Miles.  "Down  a  rope, 
and  pulled  it  after! " 

The  crowding  heads  ducked  in  a  single 
225 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

impulse,  the  fury  of  the  chase.  "Down  ag'in, 
boys!  Out  from  under,  there!  Git  along!" 
roared  the  voices;  and  below  them,  a  sea- 
faring bass,  bawling  in  the  deaf  ears  of 
Lazy-Hab,  "Slid  down  a  rope!  Ketch  him 
yit!" 

Slow  and  inquisitive,  the  teamster  moved 
toward  the  window,  leaned  in  the  open  sec- 
tion, and  then  suddenly  turned,  with  a  grin. 

"Look  a-here.  Mile,"  he  said,  pointing  a 
stubby  finger. 

Far  below,  the  sailor  was  racing  straight 
down  the  beach.  His  red  stockings  twinkled 
as  he  leaped  the  rocks,  scurried  over  the  wet 
sand,  and,  running  out  knee-deep,  fell  for- 
ward with  a  great  splash.  His  arm  flailed 
the  water  in  desperate  over-hand  strokes; 
his  head  became  the  black  point  in  a  widen- 
ing arrow-head  of  ripples. 
226 


THE  RISK 

"Let  'im  go,"  said  Old-Hab  stolidly.  "We 
done  our  part.  Good  riddance,  bad  rubbage." 

But  Miles  had  turned. 

"They'll  fire  at  him,"  he  said,  and  clat- 
tered down  the  stairs.  Shouts  and  curses 
rose  to  meet  him,  and  outrageous  blows  set 
the  tower  resounding  like  a  drum.  Penned 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairway,  the  men  were 
battering  the  door  with  boot  and  gun-butt. 
And  then  for  the  first  time,  Miles,  half  laugh- 
ing, half  indignant,  saw  how  the  sailor  had 
used  him  for  the  trick.  These  honest  mad- 
caps had  rushed  in  to  his  rescue;  and  fairly 
on  the  heels  of  the  hindmost,  Tony  had 
reached  in,  stolen  out  the  key,  and  locked  the 
door. 

For  a  long  time  it  held  solidly,  while  they 
clamored  and  pounded.  Forming  a  little 
phalanx,  all  hands,  they  flung  at  it  together; 
227 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

again  and  again  it  held,  and  they  fell  back, 
rubbing  sore  shoulders;  till  at  last  hinge  or 
casing  crashed,  splinters  flew,  and  the  cap- 
tives tumbled  through  into  the  sunshine, 
with  an  impetus  that  sent  Lazy-Hab  rolling 
on  the  grass. 

"We'll  see!"  he  cried  ferociously,  and, 
bouncing  up,  ran  round  the  base  of  the 
tower. 

The  others  streamed  after.  On  a  bare 
ledge  of  pink  granite,  all  stood  at  fault,  scan- 
ning the  empty  shore.  Then  Lazy-Hab,  with 
a  short,  harsh  sound  of  merriment,  pointed 
calmly.  Out  in  a  steel-bright  strip  of  water, 
a'  black  disc,  smaller  than  the  tip  of  a  buoy, 
bobbed  with  living  regularity. 

"Long  shot,"  he  chuckled,  "but  I've  hit 
the  kag  on  the  beacon,  furder." 

He  had  swung  up  his  gun,  when  Miles, 
228 


THE  RISK 

breaking  through  the  group,  wrenched  it 
from  his  hands. 

"  Wha'  d'  ye  mean  ?"  bellowed  the  marks- 
man, raging.  "  You  let  a  foreign  murd'rer  — " 

"That's  enough!"  ordered  Miles  coldly. 
"You  came  near  being  a  home-made  one." 
He  turned  on  the  men,  sharp  and  bitter. 
"You  fellows  come  to!"  he  said,  and  speak- 
ing on,  with  a  few  domineering  words  found 
himself  their  master. 

"That's  right,"  growled  one.  "Talkin' 
sense,  Mr.  Bissant,"  another  nodded;  "told 
'em  that,  myself."  Old  Quinn,  with  a  sheep- 
ish, absent  grin  of  innocence,  smuggled  the 
cartridge  from  his  gun.  Their  little  tumult 
was  over,  '  save  in  fireside  history.  And 
Miles  had  known  his  first  moment  of  com- 
mand. 

As  he  turned,  however,  his  thoughts  were 
229 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

of  something  quite  diflFerent  and  distant. 
He  saw  that  black  dot  move  down  aslant  the 
shining  channel,  lose  all  apparent  energy  in 
the  distance,  and,  dead  as  a  bit  of  driftwood, 
float  past  the  foot  of  the  island.  But  in  imagi- 
nation, clearer  than  a  spyglass,  he  pictured 
Tony  swimming  on,  the  sharp  catch  of  his 
breath,  the  labor  of  his  great  muscles  against 
the  tide,  and  wondered,  as  the  dark  mote 
lessened  on  the  water,  what  thoughts  it  might 
confine.  Only  plans,  perhaps,  for  his  own 
unruly  future;  the  sailor,  consistent  to  the 
last,  had  played  upon  them  all ;  now  he  would 
but  change  the  scene  and  the  persons.  And 
still — "If  things  had  been  diflferent,"  thought 
Miles,  "if  we'd  started  in  together,  some- 
how— "  The  head  drifted  out  of  the  paler 
surfaces,  blurred  into  the  dark,  jagged  margin 
of  the  further  shore,   entered  the  inverted 

230 


THE  RISK 

evergreen  forest,  and,  crossing  the  white 
streak  where  a  birch  trunk  gleamed  on  the 
mirror,  was  lost  in  safety.  And  with  it. 
Miles  felt  some  piece  of  his  old  self  de- 
parting. 

When  he  turned  away,  at  last,  he  found  the 
men  dispersing  along  the  shore  toward  Al- 
ward's,  and  saw,  through  a  gap  in  the  firs, 
Anna  and  the  teamster  climbing  the  distant 
field  slowly,  with  now  and  then  a  pause  or 
gesture,  like  people  in  earnest  talk.  He  was 
hardly  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  when  they  had 
reached  the  house  and  gone  indoors.  He 
followed,  wondering  why  they  had  not  waited. 
From  between  the  hackmatacks  he  could  hear 
three  voices  contending,  then  two,  and  as  his 
foot  grated  on  the  doorstep,  none.  In  the 
kitchen  Ella  and  the  teamster  met  him  with 
a  guilty  silence,  while  overhead  a  light  step 

231 


ADMIRAL'S   LIGHT 

came  and  went,  and  as  if  with  a  lighter 
spirit,  the  girl  hummed  Httle  intervals  of 
song.  When  these  sounds  returned  down- 
stairs, Ella  faced  about  with  an  air  that 
was  almost  gay. 

"Now,"  she  cried,  "for  breakfast!" 
All  four  sat  down  by  the  sunny  window. 
From  the  outset.  Miles  found  the  meal  be- 
wildering. Plainly  his  companions  had  shared 
some  secret.  They  glanced  and  laughed  in- 
consequently;  they  talked  of  Tony  and  the 
escape,  with  a  curious  exhilaration,  and  more 
curious  gaps  of  silence;  they  gave  to  this 
meagre  breakfast  a  sense  of  banqueting,  but 
banqueting  under  the  edge  of  some  unusual 
event,  soon  to  fall.  The  girl's  eyes,  her  every 
word  and  movement,  were  as  lamps  t*nd 
music  to  a  feast.  And  Habakkuk,  dipping 
and  swerving  his  weather-vane  countenance, 

232 


THE  RISK 

was  flushed  with  her  praises  like  a  min- 
strel. 

"All  the  rest  scairt,  and  she  run  slap  into 
the  lighthouse!"  he  was  repeating,  when  she 
cut  him  short. 

"  Come  on,"  she  laughed,  and,  rising,  ended 
their  brief  revel.  They  trooped  after  her  to 
the  kitchen,  where  she  caught  up  a  bundle 
from  the  floor.  Hab  wrested  it  from  her  arms, 
with  the  bow  and  flourish  of  a  country  dancer, 
and  still  laughing  as  in  a  game,  she  turned 
to  Ella,  and  held  out  both  hands. 

"Good-by,"  she  said. 

"I  won't  say  it!"  rebelled  the  other  vio- 
lently, but  next  instant  had  clasped  her  in 
a  bear-like  hug.  "Oh,  my  old  precious, 
goOu-by!    Yes,  you're  right,  you're  right!" 

The  pair,  still  embracing,  moved  clumsily 
out  through  the  doorway.  Then  Ella  re- 
233 


ADMIRAL'S  LIGHT 

leased  her,  crying  between  laughter  and 
distress, — 

"  But  you  '11  be  back ! "  She  wrung  the  girl's 
hand.  "You'll  come  back  like  old  Douglas, 
time  they  give  him  the  gold  cane  and  the 
speech — " 

But  the  joke  failed  her,  and  the  good  crea- 
ture fled  into  the  house.  Habakkuk,  with  his 
burden,  was  already  climbing  the  slope. 
Anna  beckoned  to  Miles,  who  followed  her  in 
bleak  amazement,  as  if  all  his  friends  had 
turned  to  strangers,  and  all  their  doings  to 
some  alien  by-play.  Side  by  side,  the  two 
began  the  sharp  ascent. 

"What's  all  this,  Anna?"  he  said  re- 
proachfully.  "What  does  it  mean?" 

She  only  laughed,  stretched  out  a  hand 
for  help,  and,  falling  back  at  arm's  length, 
made  him  pull  her  by  main  strength,  tug- 

234 


THE  RISK 

ging  and  slipping,  up  the  tawny  hillside. 
Not  until  he  had  paused  for  breath,  high  in 
the  wind  above  house  and  field,  would  she 
answer. 

"It  means  I  understand."  She  looked  away 
toward  the  sea,  a  strange,  distant  light  upon 
her  face.  "It  means  I'm  happy.  It  means  — 
well,  Tony  showed  the  way." 

Miles  eyed  her  gloomily. 

"It  means  you're  going,"  he  said  with 
bitterness.  "That's  all  I  see.  Oh,  Anna! 
Do  you  think  I  could  change  over  night  .^" 

She  faced  him  with  steady  eyes  but  a  waver- 
ing smile. 

"You  seem  to  think  I  can!  "  she  retorted. 
Then  with  that  sudden  elfin  gravity,  "  When 
you  were  in  the  tower,"  she  said,  "and  we 
all  thought  —  Miles,  I  began  to  see,  then. 
You  must  risk  a  person.  It's  like  the  wars. 

235 


ADMIRAL'S  LIGHT 

You  must  risk  him,  to  find  out  all  you  — 
all  he—" 

She  paused  with  a  little,  helpless  motion, 
studied  the  ground  between  them,  then  raised 
the  light  of  her  eyes. 

"We  three  settled  it  before  you  came.  An 
old  woman  that  Habakkuk  knows  —  he'll 
take  me  there  in  his  wagon.  No!"  she 
laughed,  "I  won't  tell  you  where!  But  she's 
been  sick,  and  all  alone.  Afterwards  I  may 
come  back  to  Ella  —  when  you're  gone." 
She  tossed  her  radiant  young  head  in  the 
breeze,  and  the  sunshine  caught  it  like  a  fly- 
ing standard.  "So  it's  all  right,  and  nobody's 
there  to  stop  you  any  more,  and  you'll  become 
the  great  man,  and  the  lamps  won't  go  out, 
and  — " 

"Suppose,"  he  broke  in,  "suppose  I  didn't 
become?" 

236 


THE  RISK 

"There  it  is  again!"  she  cried  in  triumph. 
"  The  war !  You  'II  study  and  work,  the  way 
men  do.  Yours  will  be  all  the  brave  part,  the 
fighting  and  broken  heads;  mine's  only  — 
the  risking.  Perhaps  they  come  back  with  the 
trumpets  and  flags  and  everything,  or  blind, 
on  a  crutch,  or  never  at  all.  Do  you  think 
I  didn't  know  that.^  Why,  we're  only  — 
we're  all  poor  river-drivers  in  the  brook 
together.  Go  on,  go  out!  Till  you're  out  and 
away,  I'll  never  come  back  here  in  the 
world!" 

"Anna!"  he  cried,  and  could  only  repeat 
that  name,  as  though  it  were  the  whole  reve- 
lation. She,  and  she  alone,  had  opened  a  great 
window  in  his  world.  Never  before  had  he 
felt  life  to  be  so  dangerous  and  inspiring,  or 
himself,  in  the  vast  welter,  so  puny  and  so 
invincible.    For  him,  she  had  cut  the  bonds 

237 


ADMIRAL'S  LIGHT 

of  Prometheus ;  for  herself  —  she  stood  there 
unchanged,  the  same  distant  sea-light  on  her 
face,  the  same  wavering  smile.  A  sacrifice  to 
youth  had  mounted  here,  in  common  words, 
on  a  common  hill  of  bare  granite,  yellow 
grass,  and  mullein,  and  to  his  disgrace,  all 
the  oflFering  seemed  hers,  and  all  the  wonder. 

"But  I  can't,"  he  said.  "You  must  pro- 
mise when  — " 

"No,"  she  answered  quickly.  "Let's  not 
have  promises.  This  much  is  ours;  the  rest 
we  can't  tell." 

He  gave  an  inarticulate  cry. 

"I  won't  have  it!"  he  floundered  angrily. 
"We  can't  go,  this  way.  I  won't  let  you!" 

"Miles!"  She  checked  him,  very  sternly. 
"  What  about  the  other  time  ?  Ella  told  me. 
You  promised  something  once  before,  not 
just  to  him,  but  —  all  the  others.  You  almost 

238 


THE  RISK 

—  Had  you  better  make  any  more  promises 

yet?" 

He  felt  his  cheeks  burn,  and  was  unfit  to 
lift  his  eyes  toward  her. 

"Don't  you  see,"  she  went  on  with  an 
altered  voice,  "why  we  stopped  right  in  this 
place?" 

He  saw  only  the  parched  grass  quivering 
between  them,  and  about  their  feet  a  silly 
multitude  of  grasshoppers  snapping  upward 
with  thin,  dry  clicks,  to  sail  in  short  curves 
deflected  by  the  wind.  In  some  former  silence 
it  had  been  so;  but  where  he  could  not  tell, 
nor  could  he  raise  his  head  out  of  this  present 
shame.  Far  more  visible  before  him  lay  his 
broken  purpose,  stripped  of  all  disguise  and 
easy  palliation. 

"Do  you  see  why  .^"  said  Anna  once  more, 
and  when  he  still  made  no  answer,  suddenly 
239 


ADMIRAL'S  LIGHT 

clapped  her  hands  Hke  a  child.  "I've  made 
him  mad,  I've  made  him  mad!"  she  chanted. 
"Now  he'll  fight  like  a  trooper!" 

She  laughed,  a  queer,  short,  hurried  langh, 
and  went  on  breathlessly. 

"We  say  good-by  here  because  it's  the 
best  place.  And  you  don't  remember  it! 
And  I  do,  and  always  did  and  always  will, 
and  I  told  you  a  dreadful  fib  in  the  boat, 
for  the  morning  was  just  like  this,  and  the 
grasshoppers  just  the  same,  and  you  had  the 
thorn  in  your  cheek,  right  exactly  —  there!" 

Her  volley  of  words  was  swift,  her  move- 
ment swifter.  The  breath  was  still  warm  on 
his  cheek  as  he  reached  out  with  a  cry.  But 
once  more  she  was  bounding  up  the  path, 
light  as  the  wind  in  her  hair.  He  heard  her 
laughing  as  she  ran,  plunged  a  few  steps  after, 
but  halted  as  he  saw  her,  without  a  glance 

240 


THE  RISK 

behind,  overtake  the  plodding  figure  of  Ha- 
bakkuk.   It  was  ended,  she  was  right. 

The  two  moved  slowly  over  the  crest,  sank 
to  their  shoulders  in  the  shimmering  grasses 
of  the  sky-line.  For  a  time  the  black  cap  of 
the  one,  the  bright  head  of  the  other,  went 
bobbing  and  dwindling  against  the  white- 
ness of  a  cloud.  Then  these  also  blurred  into 
the  rim,  and  sank.  A  wind  —  the  first  wind 
of  early  autumn  —  followed  them  over  the 
hill,  whitening  the  grass  in  little  scallops  and 
waves,  in  puffs  and  whirls,  and  sudden 
scurrying  lines,  like  the  breath  of  a  colorless 
flame,  passing  incessantly  upward. 

He  stood  watching,  alone  with  the  wind  and 
the  cloud.  When  at  last  he  gave  over,  and 
wheeled  about,  the  whole  valley  was  darkened 
and  vacated.  He  did  not  see  it,  or  the  house, 
or  the  river,  for  in  this  opposite  direction  lay 
Ml 


ADMIRAL'S    LIGHT 

only  something  unpalatable,  necessary,  with 
a  short  name  that  was  no  less  trite  than  won- 
derful. Toward  that  he  went  downhill  reso- 
lutely, eager  to  begin,  anxious,  exulting,  like 
a  man  who  has  set  his  face  toward  the  wars. 

THE   END 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
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